


Melodium

by arcadiumsquire



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fix-It, Netrunner V, References to Cyberpunk RPG lore, Slow Build, Slow Burn, netrunning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadiumsquire/pseuds/arcadiumsquire
Summary: V enters Mikoshi, but she does not exit.Johnny is running out of time to find her. The moment he offhandedly commented on the fate of every runner being that they would fry themselves in their own chair was weighing on him heavily every day. Particularly now that two of the best Netrunners he has ever known are unreachable beyond the Blackwall, and trying to find V is like searching for a digitised needle in a virtual haystack.He was not wrong, every Netrunner eventually took it too far, burned too bright, and then they were gone. Even Alt.But this time, he needed to be wrong about V.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Female V, Johnny Silverhand/V
Comments: 13
Kudos: 87





	1. Black Red Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V enters Mikoshi, but she does not exit. 
> 
> \-   
> _She bends slightly, levelling her lips to rest just behind the back of his right ear and he shivers._
> 
> _“I gotta let it go,” V whispers and Johnny knows that breath wasn’t for him, but Jackie Welles._
> 
> _“Just don’t hate me for this, Silverhand.”_

**Arasaka Tower  
NIGHT CITY / City Centre, Corpo Plaza** **  
** **11:01 PM, December 2077**

As V crosses the clean, white and black tiled floor, carefully stepping over bodies with burned synapses and busted cybernetic implants that lay limp and useless, she feels an icy spike of fear pierce her chest.

She glances around, taking in the corpses that Alt left in her wake as she spread to the lower floors of Arasaka like a relentless virus. For the first time, she thinks she fully grasps exactly how dangerous the rogue AI truly is.

And exactly how stupid she is for what she is about to do.

Her throat clicks as she swallows dryly and continues on, feet carrying her towards the blaringly bright red light that illuminates the final door at the end of the hallway. It opens as she approaches, and she shakes her head in disbelief at Alt’s ability wrangle an entire building under her control.

Best netrunner of Night City indeed.

She bumps her shoulder as she passes through the doors, and it’s the combination of the shooting pain down her arm and the sight of the glowing lights dancing across the surface of the coolant pool underneath the access point that pulls a shuddering gasp from her lips. She realises then that the ribs down her left side are also in dire shape.

She can see Panam glance at her face from where she is still linked up to the other woman in the corner of her holo.

“Think Smasher broke my arm. Couple of ribs too,” V murmurs in explanation, sending the other woman a reassuring smile.

The Aldecaldo nods, breathing heavily in her ear as she runs. Moving as quickly as she can given her own injuries, and never stopping as she descends even lower into the pit of Arasaka’s belly than V had.

At least this part was going entirely to plan.

“The access point lies before you,” Alt’s voice interrupts their companionable moment. “Link to it, insert yourself, then search for me on the other side.”

V collapses to her knees before Alt is even finishes. Her fingers scrambling against the tiles, desperate to find purchase on something that she can squeeze and focus on to ignore the agony. There is nothing there, and she shudders as another seizure slams through her and she knocks her broken arm once again. Her rib cage feels like it is rattling, and she presses on it gingerly, hoping any loose bone fragments don’t puncture her lung.

She knows it is not a good sign when the thought enters her mind that she is getting used to her body being captured in the pain.

“V? V!” Panam skids to a stop, screaming through the holo. “Fuck this! I am coming back up there.”

“No!” V huffs. “Please, Panam. I _got this_. Just find the chamber.”

She pulls herself back to her feet and waits. She stares down the Aldecaldo on the other end of the line until her tanned face pulls tight with exhaustion and resigned grief as she nods slowly, pushing herself back into a run.

“I can do this,” V whispers. A promise more to herself than anyone else as she pulls herself back up onto her feet. She takes a few steps before her legs give way again, and she crawls.

Panam is watching her every move. Tears catching in the corner of her eyes and looking like it takes every part of herself to continue pushing on, rather than turning to sprint back up the stairwells and pull V away from it all.

The Relic malfunction message appears in V’s optics and does not leave as she pulls herself along the bridge. She uses the casing of the access point to stand on shaky legs and releases a heavy breath that rolls through her in a tense wave.

She thinks of every Aldecaldo that helped her reach this moment. Vik and Misty’s undying loyalty and care. Judy and the ferocity in which she loves her friends. River, Joss and the kids welcoming her into their home with warm smiles and homecooked meals that heat the soul. Kerry taking her under his wing like some fun Uncle she had never had. Samurai seeing her, even from behind a shadow as large as a legendary rockerboy.

Mama Welles telling her that she is worth something, even if V, in many ways, still believes that she is the reason the woman’s son is dead.

Johnny hearing almost every fleeting thought and rush of emotion, and never weighing the person she was or what she became against any measure of good, bad or usefulness within a society that he had tried so hard to tear down.

She spares a moment to smile at Panam through the holo screen once more.

“Panam?” she says. It’s watery and tight as the name leaves her lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re coming back, V,” Panam responds. There is a surety in her voice that does not meet her eyes.

“Yeah,” V whispers, and then she’s jacking into Mikoshi.

She slides into the coolant pool, her vision exploding with system reboot messages as she eases onto her back, floating as the room falls away from her.

**⌜ • ° + ° • ⌝**

The call with V disconnects, and Panam is plunged into quiet. She slows to a walk and sucks down a deep, stumbling breath as she listens to her own footsteps echoing and bouncing off the walls.

As she rounds the last curve of the stairwell, she feels her heart stutter. She’s picturing the blueprints and counting the doors as she passes them. Trying not to let her guard down too soon as the rush of relief hits when she realises that everything is matching up with the Arasaka building plans that Rogue had managed to get her hands on for V.

The crazy gonk might just be right about all of this.

A left, past three doors, and then she is there. Alt’s attack on Arasaka having clearly taken care of security access on all floors of the building, as the final access passage into the chamber is already open when Panam approaches.

The chill that hit her as she stepped into the room was to be expected. But it still made the fine hairs on her neck and arms prickle uncomfortably.

It’s eerily quiet in the chamber. Only the low hum of electricity and her own panting breaths fill the space.

“You better be here,” she mutters to the room as she gets to work, wandering over to one of the PCs on a long, thin desk that runs down the centre of the chamber.

V had already told her the password, but she still scoffs as she taps in ‘2070’ on the keypad and then hits the combination E9 1C 55 BD, watching the screen unlock to display rows upon rows of files, ready for the taking.

She hastily searches over the file names, scrolling through each attachment until she finds exactly what they need, her hands shaking.

_Unlock code is 745837-23._

She darts down the left-hand row of tanks that line the wall of the chamber, adrenaline spiking as she reaches Pod 9. She presses up against the casing, looking through the small window of glass and waiting for the ice fog to drift just enough to see the contents inside. Once it settles, she feels her stomach somersault and she frenetically slams the unlock code into the attached keypad.

“Got it, V. You fuckin’ genius,” Panam calls out to the room as the outer casing of the pod releases with a loud hiss and she is hit with another gust of icy cold air. She grabs a medical gurney and slams it up against the side of the pod before reaching inside.

**⌜ • ° + ° • ⌝**

**Location Not Found  
Date Unknown** **  
???**

It’s pouring rain in this version of Night City. The pitter-patter of water hitting cement is the only sound in the city as V steps out of the elevator and onto the familiar rooftop of Misty’s Esoterica. Staring out at the same but different city skyline is both unnerving and peaceful. She pauses for a moment, glad that she has this one last look at the city that she grew up in if life does end today.

She turns then, with intent to walk straight past the plastic seats that she and Johnny had spent their final heart-to-heart in, only to feel her heartrate jump in a startled panic.

There is a man sitting there. Her back to him. But, she would recognise the wide set of those shoulders anywhere.

“Jackie?” she gasps. She’s moving towards him without another thought. Desperate to see him. “Jackie!”

He turns.

It is him. Suited up from their Arasaka gig, only now he isn’t covered in blood. But somehow, in his expression and the lines of his face, he looks exhausted.

“Gonna be up to our necks in juicy contracts, chica. I can feel it.”

V bites the inside of her cheek, grinding the flesh with her teeth to try and hold back the tears that she can feel gathering.

“Where are we? This a dream?” she asks, resting her weight against the backrest of one of the chairs. She has to look down at her shaking hands, the sight of him weighing too heavily on her chest.

“It’ll be alright, V. You’ll see.”

They share a silence briefly, listening to the rain and letting the water soak through their clothes. Jackie tilts his head towards the sky, calm and quiet.

V glances back up at him. She watches as raindrops run from under his eyes, gathering in the structures of his face, dropping off the end of his nose and under his chin.

Suddenly, she is hit with the greatest surge of fury she thinks that she may have ever felt. It erupts through her like a volcano, and she thinks this might be the first time she properly grasps the anger of Johnny Silverhand.

This isn’t fair. This is the fucking cruellest thing anyone could do to her.

“Jack…” she starts, struggling to find her voice as her throat tightens around the wail she wants to let loose. “Did Arasaka do this? Hit you with Soulkiller? How’s that even possible – you died.”

Jackie props one foot up on the raised cement block that holds the safety railing in place. Looking the part of a man completely relaxed and enjoying a sunset.

“Misty knew… Misty always knows,” he says in way of explanation. His dark eyes on the horizon, seemingly uncaring for the person the is coming apart at the seams behind him.

The selfish part of her wanted to punch the fuckin’ daylights out of whatever construct was in front of her. Because there was no way that this, _this_ , was Jackie.

Misty knew?

_Misty knew._

What about her? V watched her best friend bleed out in the backseat of a cab, while she tried to hold his guts in place and stem the crimson that flowed out over them both, screaming at a blue AI. Begging for the life of the one man that had gifted her with family.

This was not Jackie.

“You really got no idea who I am?” she questions.

Jackie turns away from the view to stare at her. His eyes look lifeless.

“Chica,” he whispers.

She pushes herself off the back of the chair and rounds it, collapsing into Jackie’s chest. His arms remain at his sides, but she pulls him in for a bone crushing hug and sobs into the already sopping lapels of his suit.

She can’t stop the ear-splitting scream that rips from her chest as she lives through the loss of the most important person in her life, for a second time. She grips him like a lifeline, and she’s unsure of how long he stands there and allows her to hold him.

Eventually, he steps back just enough to reach into his suit pocket.

“I think this is yours,” he says, running one of his massive thumbs over the all too familiar bullet embedded in the twisted wire of her necklace from Vik.

He gently drops it into the palm of her hand and presses her fingers to close around it. She nods.

“You’ve got a drink now,” she states, and the ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of Jackie’s lips.

She wants to stay and listen to her brother call her sister some more.

She wants to watch his topknot bun droop further down the back of his skull with the weight of the rain. Tell him that Misty and Mama Welles are okay. That she misses him every day. Tell him that she’s sorry she couldn’t save him.

But she can’t. She needs to go, because now she has someone else that she needs to save.

“Goodbye, Jackie.”

He bends slightly, like he used to when he was whispering facts of the past from Legends of Night City or conspiring with her on a prank they would pull on Padre, young, dumb and blissfully ignorant of what they would get themselves into.

“Don’t let her have you,” Jackie murmurs, his breath warm against the shell of her ear.

V steps back, wiping the last of the tears from under her eyes and knowing she’s smudged the shit out of her eyeliner.

“The Afterlife, Jackie. I’ll see you there,” she says in farewell before the world falls away once more.

**⌜ • ° + ° • ⌝**

When V starts to follow the lines of blue code that make up the bridge of Mikoshi and watches as it seems to shift underneath her in dark silhouettes. She feels the last of the fog from the omega blockers clear from her mind. Her legs stumble like they are walking on a treadmill that’s pulling her faster than she can keep up with as her mind tries to re-establish itself and comprehend her surroundings. 

“Let us go then, you and I.”

Alt’s voice reverberates around the space, ringing clearly as the AI continues to recite a poem. The words tugging V to follow like a digital Pied Piper, leading her up the steep blue staircase and towards golden gates at the end of her path. 

She can see a shadow waiting for her, and she knows it’s Johnny. She would recognise the long-limbed stance anywhere.

She all but runs the last leg of the path to meet him on the ledge. When she reaches him, she places her transparent red hand on his shoulder, and he turns.

“Sorry for caging you. I needed to do this, Johnny. For me,” V says, leaving her hand to rest on his shoulder, what would have been skin-to-skin out in the world.

He glances at it. The frown and taut creases of his forehead disappearing as he nods slowly.

“I get it,” he responds. He raises his metal arm and allows the hand to lay across her own. It’s gentle. “You made your decision about us then?”

V is quiet for so long that Johnny’s hand drops away from her own, only to cup her chin and tilt her eyes up to his, just to check if there’s still life in them. They stare, and even here in Mikoshi, she can see her reflection gazing back at her in his shades and hates the anxiety that she sees there. 

She feels the muscles of her jaw jump and twitch, and she knows Johnny has already zeroed in on the movement. He knows her tell and releases a heavy breath from his nose before glitching out of her view and reappearing behind her.

She cannot hear him in her mind now. But she knows he’s asking.

_‘What are you up to, V?’_

She turns, wandering over to where he is waiting in a construct of the familiar booth from Tom’s Diner. The first place they started to get along if it could have been called that.

“I want to talk to Alt,” V says as she sits down across from him, her hands coming to rest together on their tabletop.

Like its second nature for them now, Johnny instinctively wraps both his hands around hers and squeezes.

“Alt’s already split us. Once you jacked into Mikoshi, she lit you up with Soulkiller.”

“I know. Your output don’t fuck around,” V chuckles. “But that isn’t what I want to talk to her about.”

“V?” Johnny’s head tilts questioningly, his dark hair falling in curtains around his digitised face.

“I am not his girlfriend,” Alt states, appearing beside their table.

V pulls her hands away from where they are tucked between Johnny’s. He leans back, one boot coming to rest on the tabletop between them. V sinks back into the cushions of the booth and looks up at the face of the AI.  
  
“So, you’ve split us. What next?”

“Your engram integrity remains high, V. However, there is one aspect I failed to take into account.”

“Alt? What?” Johnny asks, sitting up quickly and removing his sunglasses to stare up at the AI.

“The body is a key factor in this transaction. DNA reconfiguration by the Relic has progressed too far. Added to aggressive, invasive medications, the body’s immune system attacking its own neurons…” Alt continues. “After I transfer your construct into your body, you will die. It is inevitable. It is imminent.”

“That wasn’t our deal,” V states through gritted teeth.

“You shall live for about six months. Perhaps somewhat more. Your body will see you as an intruder. The body is now Johnny.”

“Alt, give us a minute. V and I need to talk.”

V stands abruptly, slamming her hands down on the table in anger, but she phases through it and the lack of noise from the action is wildly unsatisfying. With a huff, she pushes herself away from the booth and starts to head back in the direction of the golden gate.

‘A real fuckin’ spanner in the works then,’ she thinks.

Within moments, Johnny is glitching into step beside her.

“There isn’t anything to talk ‘bout, Johnny.”

“Perfect, ‘cause we’re sticking to the plan,” he responds, grabbing her shoulders and yanking her to stop and face him. “I’m goin’ with Alt, fuck knows where, you’re keepin’ your body.”

“For six months.”

“For however fuckin’ long, V. I’m not takin’ your body.”

“Fine,” she snaps and turns on her heel. She stalks back towards Alt who is already leading her over to a well and explaining that it is the mortal wall back to her body. She stops at its edge and looks down into its seemingly endless depths before glancing back up at Alt once more.

Her human brain registers what it could only interpret as anger briefly etching itself across the face of the AI. Seeing it sends a spark of adrenaline through her, and she knows she is doing the right thing.

Slowly, she lowers herself to sit on the edge of the well and gestures for Johnny to join her. He does so silently.

V reaches out, fingers finding his metal hand and curling around it. She clears her throat, looking back up at the waiting AI.

“Do you mind giving us a sec?”

Alt glitches from view.  
  
“Thank you. For everything,” she murmurs. “I think we made a pretty good team.”

Johnny smiles, dropping her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders and draw her in close instead. She leans in, taking a deep breath and imagining whiskey, leather and smoke enveloping her senses.

His ‘ganic hand brushes hair back from her face and she feels his lips press to the crown of her skull. The grip on her shoulders tightening as he mutters into the strands.

“I think we did too.”

She wraps her arms around his waist and holds on tight for minute before leaning back to look up at his dark eyes. She promises herself that this will be committed to her memory.

“You said it yourself once,” she says quietly. “Netrunners die in their chair, frying their own synapses. But I don’t want that, Johnny.”

“That isn’t going to happen to you, V.”

They both aren't really sure if they believe it though.  
  
There is a snap second where Johnny sees V’s optics glow blue, flashing in the way he’s seen them do so a million times at this point.

“V, what are you-”

As quickly as the glow graces her face, it’s gone.

Around them, a voice that they both recognise echoes across Mikoshi.  
_  
“Hold onto it, V. For me.”_

V stands suddenly, quickly shifting to centre herself between Johnny’s thighs. She bends slightly, levelling her lips to rest just behind the back of his right ear and he shivers.

“I gotta let it go,” V whispers and Johnny knows that breath wasn’t for him, but Jackie Welles.

“Just don’t hate me for this, Silverhand.”

She presses her lips to his cheek lightly before, with every ounce of brute force that V can muster, she shoves away from Johnny and he topples backwards into the well.

Mikoshi goes quiet.

**⌜ • ° + ° • ⌝**

**Arasaka Tower**  
**NIGHT CITY / City Centre, Corpo Plaza**  
**11:41 PM, December 2077**

Panam sits by the edge of the pool, watching V’s expressionless face so intently that her eyes are starting to burn from a dryness that only came with a lack of blinking. She is afraid to look away in case she misses even the slightest movement.

She feels herself going a bit stir crazy, sitting and waiting. One hand wrapped around the cord of a jack and old adapter, the other holding her holo like a lifeline. Her nerves firing off rapidly under her skin, knowing there is nothing more she can do now.

The silence and minutes ticking by are making it so much worse. She sighs impatiently and then almost jumps out of her skin when her holo buzzes.

She looks down to read the letters glaring up at her from the screen.

_Jack him in._

Panam slams into gear then, on her knees instantly and letting the holo drop from her hand. Instead, she uses it to pull ink black locks, slimy and wet with coolant, away from a pale expanse of neck, while her other hand moves to click the jack and adapter into place. Then she waits.

Nothing happens for several moments which feel like millennia’s passing.

Her heart pounding in her ears and feeling her stomach slowly sink as she struggles to reign in her worry and disappointment.

And then eyes twitch under eyelids like they are experiencing a vivid dream during a night of heavy sleep.

She gasps and reaches back for her holo once more, hitting speed dial.

“She got him."


	2. Ghost Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny wakes without V, his mind is too quiet and his world shaken before he has even re-entered it. He has to fix this, and he knows where to start. 
> 
> V joins Alt beyond the Blackwall.

**Arasaka Tower  
NIGHT CITY / City Centre, Corpo Plaza**   
**12:03 AM, December 2077**

It is a heart-wrenching sob that pulls him back into consciousness for the first time in over 50 years.

Johnny blinks slowly, looking up at the plain ceiling above him, watching the movements of the shadows that are being cast across it in residual shades of red from a light across the room. It feels like he’s floating, not quite attached and fully aware of the body, but present.

When his mind slowly starts to catch up and comes back online, he pushes himself up slowly. A startled ripple moves through his nerve endings when his metal hand clinks as it meets the tiles underneath him.

He is shivering and sticky all over with coolant weighing down the medical scrubs that are clinging to every crevice of his body like a second skin.

“ _Slow_ , Johnny. You know who I am?”

Vik is beside him, murmuring in his ear. He knows the ripperdoc is scanning him behind those dark, circular shades, with hands moving to Johnny’s shoulders to steady him.

He doesn’t answer, turning instead to look over at Panam as he hears the woman give another shuddering sob.

She is half-submerged in the pool that surrounds the Mikoshi access point. Her legs straining to keep her from toppling all the way into the pool while her torso is pressed down against V, and her arms cling to the other woman like she’s the only thing that will keep her afloat.

Panam’s face is buried in the junction of uncovered skin between V’s neck and collarbone, crying so uncontrollably that her body appears to be vibrating and it is causing coolant to slosh up over the sides of the pool constantly.

V isn’t moving.

Johnny shrugs out from under Vik’s hands and yanks out the jack that is still connecting him to Mikoshi before he drags himself over to the pool by his hands. His legs are still too unstable to do any of the work, and he knows he must be a pitiful sight as he reaches the edge.

Panam looks over her shoulder at him slowly, wiping tears and snot from her face before nodding. When she backs off, her hair no longer obscuring V’s face from view, Johnny takes a trembling breath.

Her face is blank. Void of expression, she looks so small and frail engulfed by thick liquid and floating. She is pale, lips blue from the cold, with dark rings under her eyes and so thin that it does look like a parasite has latched on to suck the life out of her. There are streaks of blood under her nose and at the corners of her mouth, and he knows she must have had another seizure, a bad one, before she entered Mikoshi.

He had done this to her. Fuck. _He had done this to her._

Now he was alone in a body that felt both entirely familiar and too strange, and a head that was so quiet without her thoughts and flashes of her memories entangling with his own.

Panam pulls at Johnny’s ‘ganic hand gently, guiding his palm over to V’s cheek. He shuffles closer, and Panam moves out of the way, giving him space.

Johnny reaches into the coolant and lifts V’s head and torso up into his lap. He wants to pull her out entirely, but his muscles do not seem to want to cooperate, so he settles for this and hugs her close.

He strokes his metal hand through her hair, the movement wringing out some of the slime, so he continues until it just looks like it’s wet from a shower, rather than this. His other hand drifts up her neck and presses against the side of it, searching for a pulse that is not there.

He tries to reach for her in his mind, like he is used to doing whenever he wants to, and conversation with another person has never been so easy. But he feels nothing, the connection gone. There is a deep, harrowing noise of sadness that follows and seems to echo around the room.

He realises that it came from him.

“We need to go, Johnny. There’ll be reinforcements here any second,” Vik says somewhere behind him.

Johnny nods, eyes never leaving V’s face.

He feels Panam and Vik shuffling around them. Grabbing V’s guns, Vik shoving supplies back into a bag and straightening up a medical gurney. Pulling down the sheets and blanket, and fluffing the pillow, like anyone could give a shit about their own comfort right now.

Panam crouches beside him and glances at Johnny before carefully manoeuvring around his extended grip that has now moved down from V’s neck to wrap around her hand. She reaches for the jack in V’s forearm and follows the cord back in towards the access point.

“What are you doing?” he questions.

“We need to go, Johnny,” she echoes Vik.

Johnny pulls back with V’s body, his hand quickly dropping hers in favour of wrapping around the cord extended from her arm and holding it firmly. His body instinctively curling to shield hers protectively.

“No. Don’t jack her out. She’s coming. She said- “

“Johnny, she’s gone,” Panam says. She was being unusually soft, tears gathering in her eyes again as she stares down at him. “She planned this while you were on the blockers. I was in on all of it. Once she had the intel on your body being here…

“She wanted you both to come back, but she said that if she didn’t it’s because something made her body not an option anymore. Staying in the Net has been her backup option the whole time, Johnny. There was no way she would leave you there.”

“Kid, we gotta jack her out so we can bring her with us. But we need to move now,” Vik states.

For one selfish moment, Johnny wonders how she could do this to him. But he already knows the real answer – she did this for herself as much as she did it for him. She would always value another chance, a fresh start over six months of continued pain and suffering, waiting for the timer to hit zero, regardless of whose life it was on the line.

Johnny lets loose a long, deep breath before nodding and releasing his hold on V’s jack. Vik pats the centre of his back firmly before tucking his arms under Johnny’s shoulders, and together they lift the rockerboy’s old-new body onto the gurney before Vik goes back to help Panam.

He shifts, making himself as slight as possible, so that V’s body can join him. It is not hard to fit them both on the bed, her body is so small and thin at this point that Johnny feels a crippling wave of guilt when he realises that he cannot remember the last time he had seen her eat a proper meal. It had been water, MaxDocs, soy paste and whatever else she could carry in a jacket pocket for days on end.

Fuckin' Christ, he had done a bad job at trying to look out for her. 

He pulls the blanket up over himself and V, sinking back against the thin mattress and wrapping his arms around her as Vik steers them into the hall. Panam in the lead with an elevator access key in hand.

 **⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

**Misty’s Esoterica  
NIGHT CITY / Little China, Watson  
12:47 AM, December 2077**

It was rare for Misty to ever turn on the television, even for background noise. But today was different. She had flicked it on about thirty minutes ago, when the first line of NCPD cars tore through the main street above the Esoterica with their sirens blaring and tires squealing against the asphalt. 

She had taken a seat at the counter and periodically flicks between WNS and 54 News whenever she peers over at the screen. She waits for the tell-tale ‘breaking news’ tune, but there still had not been any broadcast on the fate of Arasaka or even a mere mention of something occurring at the Tower.

She suspects that the corpos are trying to cover up the incident, if they had even managed to get their comms and security back online after V had entered the building.

Regardless, she is tense and biting her nails out of nervous habit. With a hefty sigh, she reaches under the counter and pulls out her neat tarot stack before lighting the candle beside her and settling in.

She taps the deck, focusing her energy on the motion of it rather than the sounds coming from the television, and shuffles the cards slowly. When she is ready, she neatly bundles them again and whispers, “Alright, V. What are we doing?”

She places the first card down to her far right. The Magician looks back at her; a schemer who always has one last trick up his sleeve. The card is not reversed like the first time she had done a reading for V, this time indicating adaptation to a situation through intellect and sheer willpower.

This time, the Magician was V, not Johnny. The thought of how much the connection between the two had changed them, smoothing rough edges and coaxing confidence where it had not been before, pulls Misty’s lips into a small smile.

The next card goes down, and it is the High Priestess. A card of mystery, she serves as the mediator between the depths of reality. She is the path between, the duality of nature.

V was in the Net and the Priestess had been waiting for her to arrive.

With the players introduced, Misty places the third card and continues to build inwards on the table, a question of what would happen in this part of V’s new future.

The Reversed Wheel of Fortune. Unsurprising with the turn of events that had followed V for the last month, she had experienced misfortunes that most could not even begin to imagine.

V could not cling to control or certainty now, but the Wheel was always in motion and would eventually move towards a new cycle if she allowed it.

The Strength card follows. Misty wonders briefly how much this would tie to both V and the High Priestess. Resilience and determination, fortitude during moments of hardships or distress. Misty knew it had been engrained in the other woman’s personality from the moment Jackie had first introduced them. She just hoped that V did not let the Wheel win out in whatever she was about to face.

She takes another long look at the cards in front of her before scooping them up and shuffling again.

‘And, Johnny?’ she wonders.

Misty places the card, and gasps softly. An immeasurable sadness settles over her, heavily weighing on her shoulders and pulling her body in on itself as she feels tears settling in her waterlines.

She knows instantly that he has been separated from V. Not just in body and mind. They have lost each other across two worlds and the man is already withdrawing into seclusion, but such a path may be filled with dangers. There is madness in the solitary abyss, and it can trap you in an embrace of imbalance.

The rumbling of an engine pulling into the side street at breakneck speed and screeching to a halt outside is jarring, and Misty hastily wipes the tears from under her eyes. She looks down at the card once again, and the Reversed Hermit stares back.

Car doors slam and she quickly flicks the card back into the deck and puts it away under the counter. She hears Vik talking unintelligibly as he opens the creaking metal gate that leads to the side alley down to his clinic, and a concrete block grinds against the sidewalk as he moves it into position, propping it open.

Misty takes a deep, stabilising breath before she heads outside to meet them. Already knowing who was going to be missing.

But even knowing does not prepare her for the sight of Johnny Silverhand stepping out of the back of a Delamain, cradling V’s body in his arms. In an instant, she is thinking of parallels to the raining night that the very same branded cab bought Jackie back to the clinic, heart stopped and covered in blood.

Vik spots her and approaches, pulling her into a hug that squeezes with just the right amount of comfort and she sniffles into his shirt as a few tears escape.

There is a clang of metal on metal, and they both step apart and look over to see Johnny lifting V onto the gurney. His metal arm had caught on one of the bars that ran down the length of the mattress, but with every step he takes it seems like he is gaining better control over his body again. Strength and dexterity slowly starting to return.

His hand curls around V’s own limp fingers, gripping on firmly before he turns back to find Misty, Vik and Panam watching. He hates the pity that he can see in their eyes.

“Let’s get her downstairs,” Vik says finally, and each of them moves to take a corner of the bed and wheel it through the gate. They lift together when they reach the stairs leading down to the clinic, and Johnny cannot stop the morbid thought of this being a funeral procession.

Once inside, Vik positions the gurney in the centre of the room and moves to set up medical curtains around V, mentioning that she would probably want to get out of the coolant covered clothes, his voice tight and pained as he says it.

Panam nods, stepping between the hanging sheets of cloth. The others remaining silent as they listen to the Aldecaldo shuffling around and the slap of wet clothes being deposited onto the tiles.

Misty goes to the sink, filling a metal container with warm water and grabbing a couple of sponges. Seeing everyone moving to prepare V’s body like they are at a funeral home becomes too much for Johnny.

The look he sends Misty stops the woman in her tracks, and he clears his throat at the curtain. Panam gets the message, tucking the bedsheet up around V and stepping out to give Johnny the space to enter.

He stares down at V for several long moments before leaning over and pressing a kiss to her forehead and running a thumb over the thick scar under her eye that she had always been self-conscious about.

Johnny Silverhand was many things, but largely, above all else, he was a stubborn man. And he was a stubborn man that decided, in that moment, that it was not going to end like this. He’d tell V himself that he thought the scar just made her look interesting; like the kind of person that had a story you would want to listen to.

An idea sparks to life in his mind, a question really, and suddenly its all-consuming. He knows exactly who to talk to – he does not like it, but he decides that he can leave half-a-century old principles at the door for this one. And fuck, he never thought there would come a time for him to believe that.

It is like an electric current has hit him, and he moves into action. He gives V’s cheek another gentle touch before he bends, reaching for the clothes bundled on the floor and sifting through them. His hand wraps around her holo in the pocket of the replica SAMURAI jacket and with a final look over his shoulder, he steps out of the curtains.

“We should call Mama Welles, start planning the…” Vik murmurs, voice catching and unable continue as he gestures soundlessly to the curtains that are obscuring V’s corpse, and that is enough for Johnny.

“Don’t plan anything. Hook her up to everythin’ you’ve got and get her on ice.”

“Johnny, she’s- “

“ _Just do it_. We’re not done here,” he snaps.

Before the others can stop him, he heads for the door, already scrolling through V’s contacts and hitting dial as he yanks open the steel grille that leads out of the clinic.

“Whatever it is that you’re about to do, don’t shut us out, Johnny!” he hears Panam yell after him, but he is already up the stairs and marching out into the streets of Night City by the time the call connects.

“ _Johnny?_ ” Rogue answers, eyes wide and startled by his face looking back at her in the holo. “Is V-“

“Afterlife in ten,” he interrupts and his voice is shaking.

She scrutinises him through the holo in silence and he stares right back. Her eyes had always been intense, but now they had years of sagacity behind them, the kind that could only come with years of experience and hardships.

Johnny used to be able to handle her gaze, never wavering. Now though, he just feels small.

“What do you need?” she questions.

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”

“No. _Now_.”

Johnny grinds his teeth.

“Meredith Stout.”

 **⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

**Location Not Found**   
**Date Unknown**   
**???**

Following Alt out of Mikoshi, through the Blackwall, and letting the AI guide her across bridges of data is like going on some sort of weird house tour that V almost wants to laugh at.

She feels a combination of relief that she did not simply disintegrate from existence the moment she passed beyond the Wall, and amusement at how much things seemed normal. Or as normal as consciously existing as a line of code, surrounded by nothing but other lines of code, could be.

“You appear at ease,” Alt comments. The AI is drifting beside V while she walks, moving like an enormous ghost, feet never touching the virtual floor but always keeping pace.

“It might not be the mainframe to EBM accounts, but this is oddly… similar to the rest of Netspace,” V responds. She pauses mid-step, watching as a glowing strip of light bounces back and forth between two points just to the left of them. Signals catching and sending like a captivating metronome.

There is a loud howl in the distance. It is distinctive. Like the sound of a strong wind moving through shutters on the window of an old, wooden house. It reverberates and whistles, echoing off the non-existent walls of the virtual world.

A blue, glitching tumbleweed drifts across the path in front of them, riding an invisible breeze.

“The Blackwall splits the old and new networks often,” Alt offers in explanation.

“A Ghost Town, huh?” V wonders, and a grin splits across her face as she tips her neck backwards to look up at the AI. “Were you a fan of westerns?”

“No.”

V snorts and they continue along the path. The bouncing light following them as they go.

“Do you… travel between the regions much?”

“Is this what you would refer to as ‘small talk’?”

“Just trying to make conversation,” V huffs.

They are quiet for an awkward stretch of time before Alt finally speaks again.

“Yes. Eurotheater is worth the visit.”

“Think I’ve got time for a lil’ vacation?”

Alt stops, and V finds her own feet rooting into place as they turn to look at one another, face to face.

“I recommend you render a data fort that you can return to easily. Here or in the new network, it does not matter. Keep others out of it,” Alt states. “Other AIs will not approach while I am present. But some do not take kindly to newcomers and will not hesitate to come for you when I am gone.”

“So, when is this whole absorption thing comin’?”

“You are a competent Netrunner, V. I have use for you yet.”

“So what? I _work_ for you now?” V questions, arms crossing her chest.

“No,” Alt replies primly. The lines of code that make up the human form starting to fade, glitching in and out of existence with the command, “Render the fortress.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” V calls out, her hand phasing straight through the AI as she made to grasp at it. Alt already gone from sight. “Are the Transcendental Sentience AIs real or was Bartmoss off his fuckin’ nut?”

“I suppose you will have time to find out,” Alt’s disembodied voice responds, echoing throughout the space that is still looking very much like a dead town in a Wild West film.

V swears she can hear an air of glee in Alt’s voice and rolls her eyes as she watches another tumbleweed of code roll past.


	3. Nanite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny heads to the Afterlife, seeking out assistance from Rogue to hunt down Meredith Stout before making his way back to V's apartment, knowing Nibbles is waiting.  
> -  
>  _She sighs, pressing a button on the register behind the counter, and the ‘Johnny Silverhand’ disappears from where it had glowed on the drink menu._

**Afterlife  
NIGHT CITY / Little China, Watson  
1:11 AM, December 2077**

The lights of the vending machines that are tucked up against the wall in the stairwell leading down to the doors of the Afterlife catch and glint off Johnny’s cybernetic arm. It makes him freeze mid-step and realise that he is about to enter a bar teeming with mercs, back from the dead and needing to keep a low profile.

He looks down at his steadily drying medical scrubs and knows that this is just not going to work. With a frustrated grunt, he turns on his heel and heads back out into the parking lot, glancing around before testing one of the doors on the first car he approaches. It pops open effortlessly and Johnny shakes his head, it is Night City, even in the 2010s people were locking their cars. These gonks were asking for it.

He pulls the lever for the storage trunk that protrudes from beside the driver’s seat and jogs to the rear of the car to check it out.

A small weapon stash, a couple of All Foods Meat Delights that look like they had been sitting in the heat of the vehicle for far too long, and a bundle of haphazardly tossed clothes that looked like a collection of both worn and clean. Mostly plain, Entropism pieces for functionality, but a few fashion disasters scattered in the mix. 

He spots an oversized navy t-shirt and a massive leather jacket that looks like it has been peeled off a Maelstrom corpse and sighs as he hastily throws them on. The scrub pants he is already wearing will have to do and walking around without shoes was hardly the strangest thing anyone had seen in NC.

He slams the trunk shut and runs back towards the stairs, feet slapping on the cement and he’s just hoping whatever he is stepping on is just sticky spilt drinks and chewed gum, willing himself not to look down and find out.

By the time he reaches Emmerick, his lungs are burning from exertion and it’s clear that his body is definitely not in its peak condition while it still recovers from being on ice for so long. It might also have something to do with the years of drugs and alcohol, and the chimney of cigarettes he would suck down on the daily in his old life, but he does not want to think about that right now.

The Animal towers over him, arms crossed, and eyebrow raised as he watches Johnny draw in a deep breath before speaking, “Rogue, she knows I’m comin’.”

“Yeah, she said,” Emmerick rumbles, moving to the side, clearing the entry way.

Johnny steps inside and the intensity of the cacophony created by the booming music that reverberates up through the floor and the boisterous chatter of mercs exchanging stories around the pool tables and squeezed into booths is increased tenfold in comparison to experiencing it in V’s head.

He spots the familiar face of Claire mixing drinks for a couple of young guns that are trying and failing to chat her up. Johnny hurriedly makes his way over, leaning up against the unoccupied end of the bar and her eyes are on him in a second, her jaw dropping.

“Shit, Rogue wasn’t kidding,” she states after shooing the youngsters on their way. She sighs, pressing a button on the register behind the counter, and the ‘Johnny Silverhand’ disappears from where it had glowed on the drink menu.

“She here?”

“Office,” Claire says before she hesitates. “She said V- “

“You do limited specials?” Johnny interjects.

“I think we can make an exception.”

“Rye whiskey, dash of Massy. Orange flower, lemon, lime, tablespoon of crystalised ginger, and chuck a bit of rosemary in it.”

“The V, huh?” Claire asks softly, a sad smile tugging at the side of her mouth as she fiddles with the register once again. The drink appears on the menu, right beside the Jackie Welles. “How long you think it’ll be on the menu?”

“Not long if I can help it,” Johnny responds, pushing away from the bar. Claire jerks her head towards the hall leading to the offices in a silent directive and he nods, steeling himself and walking further into the Afterlife.

“It’s good to see you back with us,” Claire calls after him.

 **⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

The door to Rogue’s office is closed, but Johnny ignores any pretence of manners and strides on in. She is scrolling through pages and pages of information and video footage from NCPD security cameras across Night City on a holographic screen that extends across the length of the desk. Her hands, which had been dashing across a keyboard that only she could see, freezing when Johnny comes to a stop at the other side of the desk.

Her harsh gaze is trailing over his body, slowly coming to land on his face and he feels his skin prickle uncomfortably under the force of her stare.

“So, V found your body in cryo, I take it?” she questions finally minimising the screen and leaning back in her office chair, arms folding across her chest.

“You knew about it?”

“She asked me to source the classified blueprints of Arasaka Tower, including foundations and anything a GPR could pick up. She and I spotted the chamber when we looked over the prints, and I suspected she knew something was up when she told me about your body missing from the oil fields.”

“You should have stopped her from doin’ it, Rogue. _Fuck_ ,” Johnny growls, sinking into the seat that’s positioned across from her. His hands come up to rub over his face, stopping over his mouth as he releases an unsteady breath.

“If you think for second that I could have stopped the kid, then you don’t really know her,” Rogue responds.

“She respects you. She would have at least heard you out.”

“Respect doesn’t trump stubbornness. And I know stubborn, Johnny,” she states pointedly, her words barbed as her expression hardens when she looks him over once again. “She was entering the Net. She’s the best Runner I’ve probably seen in this generation. I don’t know anyone here that would be more qualified to make the call that she did. _Respect it_.”

Silence follows. Johnny looking down at where his metal fingers are clenching at his knee, deep in thought while Rogue sighs harshly and opens her screen again, fingers picking up where they left off and flying across the invisible keys.

“You’re right,” Johnny admits finally, and Rogue pauses to look up at him through the light of the holograph, eyebrow raising.

“Johnny Silverhand admitting someone else is right?” she huffs in disbelief. “Riding shotgun in V’s head really did do you some good.”

“Think it did both of us some good,” Johnny shrugs.

“Don’t know about that. Noticed her starting to smoke.”

“Just socially,” Johnny smirks and Rogue snorts. “Found anythin’ on Stout yet?”

“You called me twenty minutes ago, Johnny. I’m not a fucking miracle worker.”

“I need to find her. The longer this takes, the less chance I’m goin’ to have to save V. I’m workin’ against the clock here,” he states.

“Exactly how tight of a timeline are we working to?” Rogue asks, flicking the screen out of her way once again. Hands clasping together and coming to rest on the top of the desk as she leans forward slowly.

“I don’t know- “

“You don’t know?”

“That’s why I need Stout,” Johnny explains. “When V entered the Mikoshi access point at Arasaka Tower, Alt was waitin’ for us and lit V up with Soulkiller the same way Arasaka did to me.”

“Alt? _Your_ Alt? So, your ex-fuckin-output killed _my_ best merc? And you want my fuckin’ help with this mess?” Rogue snapped, standing from her seat suddenly, her palms coming down on the glass tabletop with a forceful crash.

“S’not Alt. She’s an AI, been living’ beyond the wall. She… _they_ cut a deal with us and separated V and I with Soulkiller. Planned it so V would be able to waltz back into her body and I wouldn’t be botherin’ her anymore,” Johnny continued, getting to his feet as well.

“But by the time we got there, it was already too late. My Relic chip had overwritten V’s body and it was goin’ to kill her. She and Panam had this whole thing planned out. She got Panam to jack me back into my body when V found out she was dyin’ regardless. She went with Alt and I ended up back here.”

“Of course, Panam was in on it,” Rogue sighs. “Never should have introduced them.”

“Because of Soulkiller, V could be her own Relic, I just need to get my hands on one. It’s the body that’s the problem,” Johnny states.

Rogue stares at him for a long moment before deflating with a long, distressed exhale and sits back down. She rubs the palms of her hands over her eyes tiredly before sinking into the backrest and staring up at the ceiling.

“Her body shutdown the moment you were pulled out?” Rogue asks, eyes rotating down to look at him as he nods in confirmation. “And where is her body right now?”

“Her ripper. Should be on ice now. Couple of streets away.”

Rogue nods slowly, kicking her legs back under herself and sitting up straighter. She taps her index and middle finger against the arm of her chair, deep in thought.

She spins in the chair suddenly, reaching into the cabinet behind her and turning back with a bottle of tequila and two crystal glasses in-hand. She pours them, neat, and knocks one back before nudging the other in Johnny’s direction.

“And where’s Meredith Stout fall into all of this?”

“You remember the researchers Militech picked up after '09?”

For a brief moment, Rogue looks confused before the chips seem to fall into place, and instantly her optics flash. She puts the bottle of tequila back in the cabinet and a minute later there is a knock on the door. She calls for the newcomer to enter.

Nix steps into the office, surprise etching across the parts of his face not covered by his dark, rounded shades when he sees Johnny in the chair across from his Fixer. But he’s quick to regain control of his features, clearing his throat.

“You called?”

“Go jack in, Nix. We need to breach Militech,” Rogue instructs.

“Bit of corpo hunting?”

“Of the Senior Operations kind,” Rogues responds, standing and rounding the desk, gesturing for Johnny to follow her, and he does.

Nix grins, falling into step with them briefly before taking a turn midway down the hall and disappearing into the room where Johnny knows, from all his times visiting with V in the past, that the netrunning chair is set up.

Rogue continues and Johnny stays on her tail as they head back out onto the main floor and she leads them to the bar. She glances up at where ‘The V’ is now gleaming on the menu, and she waves Claire over to order one before turning back to Johnny.

“Running a search operation like this isn’t going to be cheap, Johnny.”

“I’ll get you the eddies. Run gigs, whatever you need. Just find Stout.”

“Keep her holo close, I’ll call you when we have something,” Rogue says. “And for the love of God, get some fucking shoes _,_ will you? We’re meant to be no shoes, no service here.”

With that, she is off. Striding through Afterlife and residing over her Kingdom. The eyes of every merc in the joint following the Queen, as they should.

**⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

**Megabuilding H10  
NIGHT CITY / Little China, Watson  
3:58 AM, December 2077**

Johnny stands across the street, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of the stolen leather jacket as he watches neon lights dance off the megablock and the late-night stragglers stumbling home from a night out on the town.

He knows a quiet, dark apartment awaits him and he cannot bring himself to cross the road, wander past the loading zone and street food carts that he had watched V grab a bite to eat at so many times before, or trudge his way up the huge flight of concrete stairs and enter that piece of shit elevator.

There is a hollow feeling in his chest, his throat dry and a headache forming behind his eyes. He has been standing on the street corner, motionless for over an hour now, but his feet feel like they are being weighed down by lead.

A car is tearing up the asphalt a couple of streets over, he can hear the tires squealing even from here. The car turns, approaching the main intersection outside the megablock at breakneck speed and after spending plenty of time with V on gigs around the City Center, he recognises the sounds of a Rayfield Aerondight instantly.

Johnny braces himself as the car drifts around the final corner, mounting the sidewalk and screaming to a halt metres from where he stands, waiting.

Kerry Eurodyne is spilling out of his car in a heartbeat and hastily standing, struggling to compose himself as his jaw unhinges with a silent gasp and he rounds the front of the car.

They stare at one another for a long moment. Kerry is wide-eyed in disbelief as he takes in Johnny standing there on the side of the street, looking like he has sauntered right out of 2023. Exactly the same, except for the wardrobe choices he would never normally make and an oddly uneasy look in his dark eyes as he faces the 2077 version of Night City on his own for the first time.

“Hey, Ker.”

Johnny’s quiet greeting breaks whatever thread of awkward tension had been extended out between them, and Kerry rushes in. He throws his arms around Johnny and a choked laugh squeezes out from his lungs as his hand fists in the back of the leather jacket. His clinging grip tightening as he feels the silver arm shift up his back and pull him in tight.

“It’s fuckin’ good to see you,” Kerry murmurs before they slowly break apart, but he keeps his hands resting on Johnny’s shoulders, like he’s afraid the other man will disappear at any second if he doesn’t hold on. His voice is raw and gentle when he continues, “Rogue called. Told me about V.”

Johnny swallows noisily, stepping out from under Kerry’s grip.

“Liked her, Johnny. She was one of the few good ones left in this shithole. Too good for a place like this.”

“She’s done some gonk-ass shit,” Johnny says. “But this place is always home, and she’ll always be too good for it.”

The look Kerry sends his way is unsettling and deeply scrutinising, his eyes pinched and trailing over every inch of him like he is trying to solve a complex puzzle and Johnny’s the clue to it all. Whatever he must see, it softens him, the small lines around his eyes disappearing and he instantly looks younger.

Things are quiet and easy between them for a moment.

“Where the fuck are your shoes?” Kerry asks finally.

“I got bigger fuckin’ problems right now.”

“You got clothes?” Kerry’s eyes trail down Johnny’s mismatched and grotty clothing again. The other man shrugs.

“Gotta get the cat. V would flatline me if she knew I’d left him on his own for so long.”

“You and V got a cat?”

Johnny shrugs again.

“Nibbles,” he states, as if the name alone is more than enough explanation. Kerry’s eyes just about bug out of his skull.

They both turn to look back up at Megabuilding H10, and when Johnny makes no move to head inside, Kerry places a firm hand back up on his shoulder before asking, “Want company up there?”

Johnny nods and lets Kerry guide them into action, crossing the street and heading up the stairs. They are in the elevator within a minute and riding up together, 54 News playing on the screens for background noise and there is still no report of an incident at Arasaka Tower. 

It is fairly quiet in the megablock at this hour, the sound of the soles of Kerry’s boots hitting the cement is reverberating off the walls as they walk up the stairs, accompanied only by the sounds of a man snoring in a corner beside an overflowing trashcan. Johnny leads them to V’s apartment and the door opens, recognising him in the security system easily.

There is a sinking feeling in Johnny’s stomach and he unconsciously comes to a stop in the doorway, needing a moment before crossing over. Kerry has a hand on him instantly, supportive and squeezing on the back of his neck.

It’s an old mannerism picked up from Johnny himself. Something he used to do to steady the other man when he would have a rare moment of panic after popping pills in a club and going through the motions of tripping and heart palpitations during their early Samurai days.

Johnny feels the tense line of his shoulders relax under the comfort of the touch and it is the push he needs to step into the apartment in his own body for the first time. When he does, he is instantly hit with the smell of V and the perfume she liked to wear on the days she needed a little pick-me-up or knew she wasn’t going to be dripping with sweat from a gig within the hour.

The scent was familiar, the idea of it concocted and relayed to him through her own thoughts and memories but coming through so much stronger now that he could smell it for himself.

It was not an overpowering or flowery smell. It did not have any of the heaviness to it that the expensive perfumes corpos usually opted for had. Instead, it reminded him of fruits he had not eaten since he was a kid; raspberries, pear and grapefruit, mixed with vanilla, musk and something woody.

It was very her. And it pulled the corner of his mouth up into a small, private smile.

The room is exactly as she had left it the night before. Her hairbrush is on the table between an old coffee cup and a takeaway noodle box, strands of her candy pink-purple hair swaying amongst the bristles as the air circulation system pumps through the vent above the couch.

The pair of well-loved Old Banana Juice Neotac pants that Johnny fucking hated were laying on the end of her bed. Half unfolded, like she was contemplating wearing them last night, and her Atomic Blast bustier hastily tossed to the floor beside the mattress. 

He is glad she had not worn either of them yesterday – would have looked like the perfect beacon for Arasaka guards to take a shot at as soon as she entered the tower.

Johnny feels a wave of overwhelming sorrow as he slowly turns, spotting the omega blocker pill bottle, cap unscrewed and some pills loose on the desk, like she had been in a mad rush to take them. He sighs, taking in the room like it’s his first time being there, and in a way it is. 

Kerry has already moved further into the room, heading straight for the built-in wardrobe and chuckling when he peers inside.

“She _really_ wasn’t one for traditional netrunner suits,” he comments.

“Most don’t come in a pink metallic,” Johnny snorts.

“Yeah, shit, these are an eyesore,” Kerry laughs, holding up V’s pair of Rainbow Racers. Johnny looks over at him, and they exchange a quick, damaged smile before Kerry comments, “Not like the other ladies in your life, Johnny. Think it was a good thing.”

Johnny’s smile falls and he does not respond, instead heading over to the armoury housing V’s weapons stash and the door slides open for him. He looks up at the rows of guns and melee weapons she had collected during gigs and as payments from some of her “employers” before he noticed a duffle bag on the table. His name is written on a piece of paper and pinned to it.

He picks it up, taking it back into the other room and carefully placing it on her bed. He unzips it slowly and reaches in to feel some familiar pieces of fabric, tipping the bag and letting it all spill out across the sheets.

His pants. His favourite tank. Several other Samurai tour shirts, his boots, a replica of his old tactical vest, it was all there along with a couple of additional shirts, pants, and bomber and biker jackets that completely fit his sense of style.

Amongst the clothing and shoes is a drawstring bag, and he unknots the top of it to reach inside. His fingers close around a thick envelope, and he pulls it out. There’s no writing on the envelope, so he pulls at the tab to open it to find a note.

_Johnny,_

_If you’re reading this, then shit went sideways on my original plan, and this is my Plan B. You might not like it and I get it, but all I ask is that you accept it. Let me be a little selfish because I could not have gone back to a life without you in it._

_You and I both know that if my body was not going to be a viable option for me to return to, me staying in the Net was our best alternative. I don’t know exactly what Alt means with this absorption past the Blackwall but you and I both know that I am the better equipped of the two of us to handle it._

_The rent on the apartment has been covered in full for the next 12 months._

_You’ll find the access shard to my bank account enclosed._

_Please take Skippy with you, I don’t trust that little fucker in my apartment alone._

_Remember to feed Nibbles twice a day._

_Robert John Linder is the bravest man I’ve ever met. I think he is going to do just fine in ’77, and every year after it._

_-V_

_P.S. I still have your tags, so I think this is only fair._

Johnny grips the note like its his tie to the earth as he tips the envelope upside down and the rest of its contents spill out across her bed. There’s a metallic jingle as the keys to his Porsche fall first, followed by the bank access shard, tangled in the cord of an awfully familiar necklace.

He picks it up tenderly, like it could fall apart at his touch, flesh fingers shaking around it. He traces the bullet and feels something clench painfully in his chest before he lets the note fall to the mattress. Using both of his hands, he frees the cord from the shard before raising it up around his neck and letting if fall into place at the centre of his chest.

“Johnny?”

He looks over at Kerry, who is watching on with a heavy, worried gaze. There is something hot sliding down his cheek, and Johnny realises a few tears have escaped.

Soundlessly, Kerry wanders over to the bed and carefully packs everything back into the duffle bag, meticulously folding the note back up, following the lines that V had left.

Johnny wipes his face with the collar of his shirt and then strides back into the armoury, spotting the deep red letters of ‘Skippy’ easily, and wrapping a hand around the pistol, only for the AI to start to scream. He swears, almost dropping it from the ear-splitting noise.

“What in the ever-loving fuck is that?” Kerry shouts, appearing in the doorway with the duffle bag now on his shoulder and his hands free to cover his ears.

“New fingerprints detected- “ the smart pistol starts to say. But Johnny quickly grabs an old oil-covered rag that V used to regularly clean her guns with after gigs and wraps it around the pistol before the bullet can continue.

“Shut up,” he snaps at the gun, trying to ignore the shocked look on the little hologram’s animated face when he covers it. He gestures at Kerry, who quickly unshoulders the bag and opens it for Johnny to place the pistol inside. “The worst fuckin’ thing V picked up; I swear.”

“Bum-bum-be-dum- “

“That thing _sings_? Haven’t heard that shit in years.”

“Yeah, she found ‘im on a dead guy beside a dumpster in Heywood.”

“Right,” Kerry laughs, leading the way back out into the main room, duffle in hand as they both try to ignore Skippy’s tune. “Grab the cat, you’re riding with me and we’ll come back later for the Porsche. Everythin’ you’re saying is just creating more questions for me. Fuckin’ _Rhianna_ , man?”

There is a warm tug of gratefulness settling in Johnny’s chest as he picks up Nibbles and heads out of the apartment, careful to lock it behind him.

He knows Kerry is doing this because Johnny cannot be in V’s apartment on his own right now. Staring at everything that does not belong to him with an itching feeling and the overwhelming tension of questions from the small part of himself that really was not sure if he would be able to pull off this play with Meredith Stout.

If he could not find her or she had already died in some ditch in this broken city, was that the end of it?

By the time they step into the elevator, Nibbles is purring in Johnny’s arms. The cat seemingly at ease and somehow recognising the ghost that had haunted V in her apartment for a month as the very same that was stroking under his neck gently with a silver hand.

They share another tight smile, listening to Nibbles’ little rumbles of comfortable enjoyment, before Kerry speaks again, “Rogue mentioned you had a plan?”

“Ker, you don’t have to get involved. I don’t want you to- “

“This isn’t about you, Johnny. This is about her,” Kerry interjects. “That little Street Rat saved my life the day she broke into my house. And it wasn’t because you were there with her. She saw me for me from the moment you weren’t behind the wheel and I got to meet her properly. She got it. She got _me_.

“I need to look out for her the same way she did for me,” Kerry states, stepping out of the elevator and leading the way back out to his car, still illegally parked on the sidewalk. He looks over his shoulder and grins, “And I really need to let her know, _alive,_ that ‘Kezza’ is not going to fly with me, even though I know she won’t quit trying.”

“Her mom was Australian. Think she picked up some of the Pacific shit,” Johnny snorts.

“She have one for you?”

“She never said any of the creative ones out loud,” Johnny smirks, changing the subject as they approach the Aerondight. “I’ll tell you what I’m thinkin’ in the car.”

 **⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

**Afterlife**   
**NIGHT CITY / Little China, Watson**   
**5:13 AM, December 2077**

Rogue carefully drips coolant around Nix’s personal port, the liquid caressing at the direct link to his cerebral cortex to prevent him from overheating as he ejects from the Net connection and sits up slowly. He blinks a few times, pinching at the bridge of his nose and rubbing at it gently before fishing his glasses out of a jacket pocket and sliding them back onto his face.

“Anything?”

“This is a tough bitch to track,” Nix yawns, swinging his legs over the edge of the netrunner chair and standing up with a stretch. “But we’ll get there.”

“You think V’s actually in there?”

“Past the Blackwall’s a danger game. I think if anyone can manage themselves out there, it’s going to be V. But I don’t know how long she’d have, Rogue. Don’t know enough about the AIs out there, datastreams could overwrite, too many unknowns,” Nix shrugs, a heavy sigh leaving him. “Doesn’t mean we give up though. Wouldn’t be alive if V hadn’t stepped in with Bartmoss’ cyberdeck, it’s my turn to try and return the favour.”

“Go get some rest, Nix,” Rogue says, walking the netrunner down the hall and out into the now empty bar. “We can pick it up again later today.”

“Same to you. You won’t be of any use to her without sleep, Rogue.”

“Got a call to make. Know someone else who I think can help us acquire Stout.”

“Night then,” Nix states before waving a two-fingered salute her way and making his way out of the bar, and Rogue watches him go.

Once alone, she sinks down into a booth and pulls out her holo. She scrolls through the names and starts dialling, it only rings twice before there’s an answer.

“Rogue? Hey,” Panam greets quietly, her voice scratchy with exhaustion as she appears on the screen. There are angry red scratches across her left cheek and leading down the neck and shoulder, her arm propped up in a sling that wraps around the back of her neck, and she appears to be moving with a slight limp. The dark purple-black rings under her eyes telling of how little sleep she must have had.

From the snippets Rogue is seeing of the room behind her and the television screen playing an old boxing match in the background, it’s clear that the Nomad is in a low-lit ripperdoc’s clinic.

“Let me make this exceptionally clear to you,” Rogue says, ignoring all polite ‘hellos’. Her tone is steady and cold, piercing like icicles as she stares down at the screen of her holo. It is the kind of address that leaves Panam feeling raw and exposed.

“You come to me _before_ the two of you do suicide missions, you understand,” Rogue snaps. “We might not see eye-to-eye, but almost losing two of Afterlife’s best contacts in a single night makes a Fixer look incapable. Smuggling gigs might mean nothing but eddie cushioning for your pocket, but for some of us, this is a living. It’s bad for business, Panam. Have some fucking sense!”

“It’s nice to hear you care. I’ll have to remember this next time you’re yelling at me for a botched gig,” Panam says, her mouth tipping into a crooked smile and the sting of the scratches on her face pulling accompanied by the comforting tug in her chest is enough to make her eyes water.

“You know I do,” Rogue softens for a moment before steeling again. “The two of you will be what puts me in an early grave though. Unbelievable levels of stupidity. Haven’t even seen Animals this idiotic when they’re hopped up on Black Lace.”

“Wish I could record this and send it to V,” Panam chuckles. It’s wet and melancholy.

They are both quiet for a moment before Rogue clears her throat finally.

“Johnny came to see me.”

“Guessed as much,” Panam nods. “He ran out before telling us anything. He tell you his play?”

“What do you desert grease monkeys know about nanites?”

“You’re kidding,” Panam gapes. “You tellin’ me Johnny Fucking Silverhand, the parasite that ate at _my_ best friend and now has the fuckin’ _audacity_ to act like he’s the only one that cares what happened to her actually has a brain in that rockerboy skull, and it hasn’t been destroyed by synth-coke?”

Rogue raises a perfectly slanted eyebrow.

“Oh c’mon, we all heard the stories, Rogue. Your drug scene was no secret.”

“I am not defending him,” Rogue states. “You’re just forgetting nanite technologies were born from _our_ years.”

“Sorry, forgot you were old as dust,” Panam smirks.

“Afterlife at midday; we have things to discuss. And bring another sling, I’m going to break your other arm for that.”

A small burst of laughter escapes from Panam’s lips, and Rogue hangs up on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disturbia came out in 2008 and I get such a kick out of thinking about how Samurai would all know who Rhianna is. 
> 
> The GPR that Rogue mentions stands for ground-penetrating radar.


	4. Illusion of Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V puts her netrunning to use, moving between regions and beyond the Blackwall. Alt gives her a job to do, but something does not seem quite right.  
> -  
>  _“She moves through the black ICE at liberty?”_  
>  _“For now.”_  
>  _“Good. I believe I’ve indulged time long enough.”_

**Location Not Found  
Date Unknown**   
**???**

The Blackwall does not form a continuous barrier, it splits the old Network and often leaves the systems fully operational and available for both netrunners and intelligent systems to use simultaneously. It should be invisible, but whatever Alt had done to V when leading her out of Mikoshi had created some noticeable changes in how the merc experiences the Net.

Now, she sees a lilac line sometimes flex and shift, dancing across datastreams. She has worked out that it is a rough indication of where the wall of black ICE is at that given time, barricading the human-usable network from the rogue AIs.

It also did not take long for V to figure out that she could also pass through the Blackwall with a fair amount of ease. The AI seems to recognise her as human and never sends off an alert or attack that would usually accompany any kind of escape attempt from a rogue AI when she passes over to the shallow Net. And when she crosses back through the Wall to the deep Net, she remains unhindered in her ability to move freely.

Each time she phases through the barrier, it feels like ice water being poured directly down her spine, and it is certainly unpleasant to feel like her own neurons are shifting and squeezing through a new space. But the freedom and opportunity it offers is priceless.

She is quickly making use of this, changing IP addresses, able to explore in ways that she had not been able to enjoy before. It was like second nature to change her host and leave no breadcrumbs to track for her network interface identification as she would reset whenever moving between regions and the Blackwall.

It did not mean that all the dangers of crossing into the deep Net and exploring there were no longer a problem, but it did mean she was moving through and learning the Net faster than she ever had before.

And as it turns out, V and Alt, at least the AI version of Alt Cunningham, have extremely different tastes in locations that they believe are “worth a visit”.

While time is irrelevant to her now and not calculated and followed strictly in Netspace as it is out in the real world, V hazarded a guess that she had spent perhaps a day of a human life timeline wandering through rows of expensive looking portrait artworks and Roman columns.

She was enjoying it, and it was exciting to enter the Eurotheater region of the Net for the first time after Alt’s recommendation. Even if the rebuild that NetWatch had done on the European network meant that it was no longer in its glory days.

But now, as she wanders past some of the most pretentious looking data forts she has ever seen, her little Street Kid ass has never felt more out of place.

The forts are built to look like literal replicas of Versailles, Chambord and Neuschwanstein pulled straight from history books, and she can see windows forming in and out of existence across the towering walls. Every single System Operator she spots in the area, of which there are not many wanting to be spotted, are watching over upturned noses.

Shit, was her Kitsch getup that offensive to see on the lines of code that made up her avatar’s body in here? Apparently, she was offending the sensibilities of every EC fashionista ever.

With a long sigh, she turns and plans to head back the way she came. Hoping to go experience something a little less “cultural”, but there is a netrunner in her path, watching and waiting. He must have been tailing her since she entered the region.

“Uh, hey?” she greets, raising a hand to wave. _Fuckin’ lame, V_.

The man eyes her up and down, nose scrunching with what she assumes is disgust, and that is a bit rich because his sideburns look like they are about to run off his own face.

“Du musst gehen. Fucking Amerikan,” he sneers.

She knows that whatever he has just said to her, aside from the obvious 'fuck off', is not nice from the tone he has delivered it in. But she now really wishes that she could give back as good as she got and had not traded her Translator implant for two hundred eddies and a bottle of Bolshevik Vodka the night before they had met with Hanako at Embers.

That had _not_ been a good business deal, and she completely blames Johnny for overriding her brain with his terrible decision-making skills… God, she hopes he is okay.

Clearly her lack of movement is not what the other netrunner wants to see, because he looks furious. He draws in a snot-filled loogie and then spits it at her feet.

“Fuckin’ _gross_ , you gonk,” V snaps, trying to scrape the side of her avatar's shoe against the data crafted floor as she looks down at the pool of code that has formed a digital appearance of mucus and spit.

She spins on her heel, ignoring the man’s satisfied grunt and stalks over the datastreams, eyes searching for lilac. When it glimmers into view a few steps away, she raises a hand and presses against where she thinks it lines up. There is a ripple effect, black and purple swelling and heaving under her touch like rain on the surface of a puddle.

With a level of pettiness that she has not felt in a long while, she glances back over her shoulder at the other netrunner who is watching on with wide eyes and a slack jaw. The satisfaction it gives her seems like it might be a trait picked up from Johnny.

She flips him the bird and steps through the barrier that has become invisible to the eye once more, but not before calling out, “Eurotheater is just a bunch of corporate shills anyway.”

 **⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

When V crosses over from the Wall, the icy sensation tingles down her digitised body like usual. She gasps as she spills out from the transparent barrier, registering that her feet find purchase on the lines of code below her feet, and she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, waiting for the dizziness to subside and her mind to catch up to her transversal through the data.

She blinks slowly and chokes on a startled scream.

An AI is standing directly in front of her. They are so close that the tips of their shoes are almost touching, and the other avatar, which has taken on the appearance of a middle-aged man from Elizabethan England with ruff and all, is aggressively staring her down.

“That to stop you from lickin’ stitches?” V wonders, pointing at the puff of lace-looking fabric around the avatar’s neck. They do not react, and she wonders if they are taking the moment to plot her murder.

The quiet is making her feel antsy. She glances around looking for any kind of safe out, finds nothing and prepares to sidestep around the strange man when an all too familiar voice echoes around her, reverberating off unseen edges of whatever carved out section of the deep Net she had stumbled into.

“Stop antagonising Europa,” Alt chastises, the massive form appearing beside them. V freezes mid-step and feels her jaw drop as her eyes dart between the two AIs. 

She had just asked a Transcendental Sentience Regional AI – _the_ Bigfoot of the Net – if their avatar collar was to stop them _licking stitches_. Like a goddamn dog!

Fuck, Johnny would have a field day if he knew. She could practically hear his laughter.

“Oh, shit. I- “

“It appears you were correct,” Europa interrupts, ignoring V and looking over at Alt instead. The regional AIs voice, with a demure, Queen’s English accent, is resonating and catching like they are in a sound chamber.

“I often am,” Alt responds, sounding smug, if one could believe that an AI would ever feel arrogance.

“She moves through the black ICE at liberty?”

“For now.”

“Good. I believe I’ve indulged time long enough,” Europa says, avatar nodding once at Alt and completely ignoring V’s existence as it turns and strides off into the data horizon.

After a long moment of watching the AI go, V finally breaks the silence.

“Do you think Europa heard me say Eurotheater was shit? Which, by the way, you should have warned me about, Alt. They do not like streetwear in there.”

“It is Americans that they do not like.”

“Oh,” she sighs. “Is it the Netwatch thing?”

“Yes. Amongst many others,” Alt replies stiffly. “Come. We have work to do.”

Numbers and letters roll through V’s sight at random, scrolling quicker than she can keep track of until they land on a familiar enough address.

The alphanumerical glows in front of her and she feels herself being pulled from Eurotheater. The feeling of warping through datastreams as she suddenly changes IP addresses and directions is jarring and pulls at her guts. If she had been more than lines of code, she would have been vomiting from the motion by now.

She feels Alt’s presence behind her but does not see it. There is an invisible push-pull, and V feels the control she has over her virtual body slip away entirely.

It is a different feeling to the one she got whenever she allowed Johnny to take over her body. Those times she had slipped into a safe corner in the back of her own mind, still at home and safe in her own skull. But, most importantly there had been trust.

Now, she blanks. Everything goes black and she cannot even register if she has her eyes open or not.

Alt’s voice is in her ear, “Monitor. Talk to no one. We need to know if the Voodoo Boys are still patrolling the line.”

‘You mean tryin’ to contact you?’ she wants to ask, but she still has no sway within her own body. It all feels like an illusion. It’s like she has forgotten how to move her own lips and make sound, and it is terrifying to know that her mind feels so wiped of sensory details that she isn’t even sure if she is still in her own avatar in this moment.

For the first time, she does not feel human.

And then she is crashing down onto blue, glowing datastream floor. The heavy collusion expelling all air from her in a harsh winding as she chokes around a cough. The world comes back to her, she groans, turns on her side and dry retches. But she’s data, nothing comes up.

She has landed at 2001:48970:f1:1eb::2.

The all too familiar streams that make up the digital infrastructure of Night City extend out before her, and she stumbles to her feet slowly. She shakes out her legs and overwhelming relief washes over her like a wave breaking over rocks during a storm. Completely wild and so powerful that it knocks the air out of her lungs for a second time as she laughs in sheer reassurance and comfort.

Control has returned to the movement and actions of her avatar body.

V straightens, squaring her shoulders and preparing to test her hacks and programs to ensure they are functional after whatever she had just experienced when passing through the Wall. She’s about to send out a simple Ping to detect any hidden icons in the area, when it feels like she’s being pulled elsewhere again.

This time when she goes it is gentle. She glitches. It is like Johnny when he had been appearing as a construct that only she could see, interacting with the environment outside of her mind, and the blue lines that had made up his body would twitch and disappear at times when he moved.

She disconnects from her avatar, a part of her still consciously sitting in the shallow Net. But a larger part of her awareness is yanked into a new body that she does not recognise.

The mind that welcomes her into it is definitely not her own, but it immediately offers up all influence and domain to her on a silver platter. 

She blinks slowly, the world hazing in and out of focus but there is a familiarity in her surroundings, and even more so in the music that she can hear in the distance. She has been here before. She just doesn’t know where _here_ is.

‘What the hell is going on?’ she thinks, and a voice that is not hers relays the message for her.

“You can speak to us?” a gravelly voice responds excitedly.

“We’re talkin’ right now, aren’t we?” she says.

“I like this one,” another voice chuckles.

V feels something trickle from the nose that is not hers, flowing over the upper lip and catching in the seam of the mouth. There is a dull, metallic taste. Blood.

She groans in that foreign voice.

“I don’t think we can keep you for long.”

“She’s already slipping.”

“This is progress though,” that excited voice is back.

Her eyelids feel heavy, like the body needs to fall into deep sleep. It’s had enough with the foreign intrusion now.

“We’ll find you again. Eve.”

“What? I-I don’t- “

A pair of glowing red cybernetics appear in her line of vision. They are leaning over to stare down at her.

She fades.

 **⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

**Vik’s Clinic**   
**NIGHT CITY / Little China, Watson**   
**4:07 PM, December 2077**

Vik is exhausted and inconsolable in his state of manic. He has not been sleeping well, instead pouring every waking moment that is not spent on treating emergency clinic patients into researching updates to stem cells and checking on V’s frozen body like she could wake at any moment. He knows full well that it is not going to happen, certainly not on its own, but it does not stop the wishing.

Three days ago, he lost a daughter.

Blood related or not, from the way he is feeling, with the loss and crippling grief that is crushing on his chest, he really did not understand how parents survive this. 

He knows that he must look like walking death at this point, because Misty has refused to leave his side from dawn until dusk.

The morning after Johnny Silverhand had arrived on his doorstep, carrying V’s corpse and looking like a man that had just watched his entire world be set alight and destroyed before his eyes, Vik had been mad. Furious at how the pieces of the puzzle had collided and fallen together in one month – mismatched, completely wrong and unfinished.

It was not fair that a dead man, a terrorist who had committed to losing his life fifty odd years ago, walked away from this.

It was not fair that V had been stolen from them.

But Misty had been Misty. She had taken one look at the ripperdoc, forced him down into his chair with a freshly brewed cup of tea, looked him dead in the eye and told him that if there was even an inkling of hope that V could return to them, then Johnny would be the one to at the very least get the ball rolling on making it happen. He had the mercs contacts now and knew who owed favours, after all. 

Like always, Misty had looked like she knew something that no one else had yet perceived.

Vik had sighed, nodded and rolled his chair over to the ice tank, a low budget cryo option, that had been set up against the far wall of his clinic. He had pressed his forehead against the cool metal, where he knew V’s own head would roughly be laying, and simply sat, listening to the machine pumping a constant chill onto her corpse.

Since then, Misty had been a constant fixture in the clinic. This afternoon was no different, as she sat by the television, her pale fingers gently caressing the edges of a tarot card as she flips it between her index and middle finger over and over. Deep in thought as she considers the card, and Vik glances over to see that it is The Moon.

He has no idea what it means.

The card suddenly drops to the floor and Misty stands, the movement so sudden that it knocks over the stool she had perched on for the last couple of hours.

It’s like watching a sixth sense activate in her body, and the ice tank is the beacon beckoning her in. She dashes across the room, boots thunking loudly on the tiles, and she throws herself up against the side of the tank, hands cupping around her eyes as she tries to peer through the casing.

When she is not able to see anything through the cold mist, she spins, eyes wide as she demands Vik open the tank.

“Misty, I open that thing and we start releasing the cold. We _need_ to keep her on ice. You said it yourself; Johnny’s request.”

“Please, Vik! I don’t know how to explain it, but something is up,” Misty cries.

“Okay, okay. Step back for a sec’,” Vik says, raising his placatingly as he strides over to the control panel, fiddling for a moment.

There is a loud hiss of air, and the tank unlocks. One of the side doors loosen and Misty is clawing at it hastily, pulling at the hinges. Vik moves to assist her, pulling the casing back.

Inside is V’s body.

Just as they had left it, laying on her back, pillow under her head and looking like she could be sleeping had it not been for the lack of rise and fall in her chest. She is naked but under the same bedsheets that Panam had placed over her for some modicum of privacy when they first arrived after Arasaka Tower. 

Misty takes a shaky breath, ducking her head and moving in closer so she can get a better view of the body. She peers at it and gasps loudly when she notices, hand flying up to cup around her mouth as she lets loose a distressing and startled noise.

“Vik, there’s blood!”

The ripperdoc shifts closer, hands hurriedly removing his dark shades for a better look when he sees that there is indeed a line of scarlet.

“I don’t understand. This isn’t possible,” Vik whispers, straightening back up and running his hands through his hair roughly, hands pulling at the strands in stress. He chews at his bottom lip as he looks over at Misty, who has not taken her eyes off V’s form.

“Calling Johnny and Panam. Something’s going on,” Vik states, pulling out his holo before pausing to tap the door of the tank, “We need to shut this. Keep the cold in.”

Misty nods slowly and steps back so Vik can shut and seal the door back down. She takes one last look before the glass casing fogs once more, and the sight is enough to send an uncertain shudder down Misty’s spine.

It looks like V is just sleeping through a mild Relic malfunction, not a corpse on a bed of ice, with blood dripping down from her nose and catching on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in no way an expert on Cyberpunk lore - the appearance of Eurotheater has been referenced in lore and it always seems to be a very culturally driven place, with a lot of pride taken in art and European history. So, I took liberties with this for the story and envisioned my own version of space within the region that V visits, and also in Europa's appearance as an AI. 
> 
> "Du musst gehen. Fucking Amerikan." - You must leave. Fucking American. 
> 
> 2001:48970:f1:1eb::2 is an IP address that I have just made up, since the Del Coronado Bay region is a fictional place. So, I loosely based it on Northern California IPv6 addresses.


	5. Prescription Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny wakes in cold sweat, shaken from a nightmare, Kerry leaning over him, and the holo buzzing with Vik on the line. 
> 
> Something has happened to V. Johnny can tell in an instant, and it feels like his heart is in his throat.  
> -  
>  _"You’re doing everything you can to save her, and you’re being smart about it in a way that you weren’t in the past. None of this martyr, pariah and hero bullshit. It’s a change. A good one, and it might just be the thing that actually makes this work."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for this Chapter:  
> Brief Depiction of Grievous Bodily Harm and Assault  
> Brief Drug Use

V’s heartrate is dull, thumping miserably in her chest like every second is laborious. She is sweating profusely in a stuffy room, middle of the Night City summer, and laying on an old, mouldy mattress that is covered in stains and smells that no one should ever want to think about. Because it is enough to turn any stomach.

Johnny knows that he is dreaming. He must be, because he has seen this exact scene play out before. A memory that has been tucked away in a library of a million other recollections that came from a life that truly had a rocky start to it, all of which were stored in V’s mind.

Once he had started to talk to V, understand that their situation had not been her choice or fault, he had tried to extend the courtesy of privacy towards her memories. And she had tried to do the same.

But they both knew it was impossible. Curiosity got the better of them both, and there were plenty of moments where they both dug into areas of each other that they would have preferred to hide. Almost every thought in their waking minutes and every dream in V’s sleep had been a shared experience for them.

A feeling of complete euphoria hits Johnny like second-hand smoke, and he glances over at V. Sees her suck down Black Lace and she releases a satisfied moan, rolling to stare up at the ceiling as her heartrate picks back up and colour returns to her cheeks.

She is dressed in a filthy, sweat-stained crop top and a pair of pants that were torn to shit and had clearly seen better days. Makeup smudged and making her look older than she really was.

At this point, she is not dyeing her hair. Instead, the thick, natural brown strands were pulled back into a matted bun, piled high on the back of her skull. There is no chrome except for a pair of baseline optics that she got installed the day before. Using every eddie she had saved for last four years, because her organic vision was starting to reach a point where she was needing glasses to see. Something she was not going to be able to afford with long-term sight deterioration.

Her skin is marred by far fewer scars than those scattering across her skin by the time Johnny meets her. No tattoos, and she still has some freckles scattered over her nose that evidently fade into adulthood.

She is 16 years old here. Addicted to Lace and any kind of stim she can get her hands on, because her own father had gotten her started on the drugs at the age of 14.

The man is a member of The Animals. He is obsessed with achieving the peak of human strength, and his obsession demands physical perfection from his children. But it is a useless goal to expect from the kids when the man has spent every eddie he earned on drugs.

Stims go hand in hand with food to speed up the process of muscle growth. But without any kind of nutrient, the drugs only create a burst of adrenaline and an exultant state of self, briefly before the user crashes. 

His attempts to build his children into machines of strength backfires on him, because now V has no appetite. She is wasting away and dropping the natural muscles she had built up from years running the streets faster than she can stop it from happening.

She knows she is ill here. She wants to stop more than anything in the world, but she has no idea how. The need to feel that spike of adrenaline and the escape from reality she gets from the hallucinogens makes it a near impossible habit to drop.

Johnny still remembers the first time he had seen this in V’s memories. In all honesty, before seeing it he had been surprised by how clean cut she seemed on these things, considering he knew from the moment he entered her head that the streets of Night City had raised her.

By 27, she seemed to only touch alcohol and even carefully monitored her MaxDoc intake. But after peering into her past, he knows why.

He knows why she had been uncertain of Emmerick when she had first met the man at the door of the Afterlife. Why the fight with Sasquatch in the Grand Imperial Mall had freaked her out as much as if did. And why she did everything in her power to not hang around long in Pacifica each time a gig took her there.

He also knows that a large part of V is embarrassed by her past. She hates that she fell into a Street Kid stereotype and lived it for as long as she did.

But Johnny realised quite some time ago that it just made him respect her more. Coming out of the other side of addiction was something that he had not done himself before he had died back in 2023. And the difficulties that came with that made her one of the most mentally fortified and resilient people he knew.

She kept her natural build, took up netrunning and installed chrome because they were things she wanted. This was her spitfire ‘fuck you’ to the man that had been anything but a father to her.

She lived in the shit.

She never tried to change other people because she knew she couldn’t. So, she just changed the things that she did not like about herself rather than pushing the responsibility of changing to fit ideals onto others.

Arguably, the harder thing to do, and Johnny revered her for it.

There is a loud crash from downstairs, and 16-year-old V shoots up from the bed, head snapping towards the doorway, seeing straight through Johnny. He knows exactly where the dream is heading now, V had experienced this nightmare regularly and he hated it every time.

She rises on shaky legs and stumbles towards a derelict staircase. Her hand grips the railing tightly as she heads down, and it is truly horrible to see a teenager moving with the strength of a geriatric in their final years at a retirement home.

She wobbles into a tiny kitchen and sees her older brother, passed out on the tiles. He’s pale, unmoving and there’s a stream of blood pooling from where his head had smacked the tiles as he went down.

“Vince?” she gasps, falling to her knees in an instant, bones bruising. Johnny can still remember the pain that movement imprinted on V’s memory every time he had watched it play out in her mind.

She uses every ounce of her strength to prop the young man up against the cabinets under the sink, yanking a dirty dish towel down and pressing it to his skull, in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

He is completely lax, head lolling like it is too heavy for his neck to hold up. She presses the back of her other hand to his sweat laden forehead and blinks rapidly as terrified tears fog her vision.

There is a burning heat that is persistent against her own skin, despite the shivers wracking through the man’s body.

“Vincent? Vince, what the fuck did you take?” she cries, shifting to take more of the man’s weight against her, so she can sit him up more comfortably. He makes a sound of pure anguish, groaning into her ear, and she feels her own hands shake with panic. “Shit, okay, we gotta… I- I gotta get you to a doc.”

“He isn’t goin’ anywhere,” an unforgettable baritone voice states as another set of footsteps join them in the room.

Hearing it again makes Johnny’s own skin crawl, and he remembers how she felt her heart sink and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end in her memories. Every nerve in her body alight, instincts telling her to run.

But every time she recalled this moment, she would look down at Vincent’s pained face and it was the thing keeping her tethered there.  
  
“What did you do?” she asks, taking a deep, steadying breath. She spots the familiar blue cased inhalers that sit in a pile on the counter, but there is a grey powder beside them that she does not recognise.

She shifts, reaching up to run her finger through it and notices that it is grainy, and sniffing it confirms her presumption of it being a synth concoction. Just as she lowers the finger from her nose, Vincent’s hand reaches up weakly to grab at her own.

He misses; his fingers instead landing to wrap around her wrist. He pulls her down closer and blinks slowly, eyes going in and out of focus. But looking at her long enough, he notices her new optics and his expression morphs into one of fear.

“He’s going to fuckin’ kill you,” Vince whispers.

She shakes her head minutely with a small smile, stroking a hand through his hair before gently pressing him back against the cabinets gently.

She stands, anger pulling the lines of her decrepit body taut and curling her nails into the palm of her hand. The small pricks of pain stabilising as she clears her throat loudly.

“Spikin’ his fuckin’ drugs?”

“Too many mouths to feed in this household, baby girl.”

She flinches at the nickname, and her lips pull into a disgusted snarl.

“S’pose I should expect nothing less from a dorphead cunt like you,” she snaps.

“Not any way to speak to your father,” he sneers back, drawing himself up to full height. He shifts his six-foot-five mass of bulging, unnatural muscles and unbidden power to fully block the doorway that was her only exit. Looking every part the Animal that he is; Thiago “Lion” Vance had always epitomised intimidation.

He knew exactly what he was doing, boxing her in. It immediately raised her hackles and had her grinding teeth together painfully, eyes flicking between the man and the door behind him.

Johnny feels hopelessly useless standing there, knowing she cannot see him. And he knows exactly how the next few minutes of V’s teenage life play out to haunt her with a phantom pain and fear for the years to come.

“I don’t have a father,” she declares.

“Your mother really raised a couple of ungrateful, whiny little bitches, didn’t she?”

“And you murdered her.”

“Not according to the NCPD, I didn’t.”

“And we both know how much their words are worth, don’t we?” she sneers.

“Be careful, honey. Wouldn’t want to see you disappear next,” he threatens, taking a step closer and smirking as he sees her tracking his movements carefully.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says before glancing back at Vincent, who was now unconscious once more and breathing shallowly. “What’s the synth-shit you gave him? He needs a doc.”

“Leave him to flatline, kid. Been nothin’ but a disappointment from the start anyway,” Thiago responds, and then he’s moving in, “You got bigger problems here.”

Even with the hulking mass of his body, Thiago is quick. With Dorphs and whatever other blend of enhancers being an almost permanent fixture in his bloodstream, his hand-eye coordination was better than most and V did not stand a chance.

She barely even has time to register his movement before a wide hand clamps around her throat and yanks her towards him. His grip crushing, and Johnny can remember the feeling of her trachea grinding against the bones of his hand in excruciating detail.

Thiago's other hand reaches between them and pulls the eyelids of one of her eyes apart, getting a good look inside.

“What have I fuckin’ told you?” he sneers, towering over her as he pulls her all the way into his chest and forces her head backwards so she can look nowhere but him. “After everythin’ I’ve done for ya?”

“Done for me?” V chokes, and Johnny’s memory of this has conjured its own version of her thumping heartbeat that is beating away in his ears. Her face hot, lungs screaming for breath and she’s about to pass out.

“I don’t like optics, and you go and get ‘em?” Thiago demands. “With what fuckin’ money? What you been whorin’ yourself on the street?”

His hand tightens impossibly, and her eyes roll back into her head, tears sliding down her cheeks. Johnny sees the world flicker to black just as it does for V when she loses consciousness, but just like it always did in this memory, her body kicks back into fight mode despite all its wear and tear.

She wriggles, trying to get loose. No such luck.

She looks up at Thiago once more, and he’s waiting for it. A bottle of clear liquid with a narrow nozzle is poised over her face and she has a split second to read the label before he’s tipping it into her right eye.

Johnny already knows what it reads, and he braces himself, knowing the excruciating burn will be immediate for V.

She collapses back against her father’s arm as her optic short circuits, and her vision is gone on the right-side in an instant. Hydrochloric acid scorching the skin around it.

V screams and it echoes off the decaying walls of the house.

 **⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

**Villa Eurodyne  
NIGHT CITY / North Oak, Westbrook  
4:11 PM, December 2077**

“Johnny? Johnny, hey!”

He jolts awake, a hoarse yell loosening itself from his chest as he sits up quickly. Kerry is leaning over him, eyes wide and looking exhausted.

This had not been the first time Kerry needed to come in and wake him from a nightmare. Every time Johnny managed to fall asleep briefly in the past couple of days it was broken sleep, erratic and usually ending with him coated in a cold sweat.

His flesh hand rubs over his eyes as he sucks down a shaky, gasping breath.

“Okay?” Kerry asks.

Johnny nods in affirmation and they both look at each other knowing that he is not.

“War or- “

“V.”

“Girl’s childhood must have been fucked. Gotta be to get you screaming,” Kerry says quietly before taking a deep breath. “This really isn’t healthy, Johnny.”

Johnny knows it isn’t in the least bit healthy. And it isn’t fair, scaring Kerry like this all the time.

“What time is it?” Johnny asks.

“Just after four. Didn’t want to wake you, thought the nap would do you good.”

He had not had a peaceful sleep for the days he had been jacked out of Mikoshi, and his body was faring poorly with it after being on ice for so long. It seemed like his mind had opened the floodgates on his dreams as it tried to process all the information and events he had experienced while not in his body.

It meant that some hours of sleep were spent reliving his own moments; tours with Samurai, his time with the Aldecaldos, Alt, the War, the nuke. All blended in amongst things he had seen during his time with V, including the moments he knows she would have preferred not to share or broadcast directly to his mind like some kind of BD. 

There had been a lot of trivial things scattered in amongst it all as well.

Her first kiss with a kid named Eli. The moment she developed a crippling fear of spiders. The day she experienced what can only be described as an explosive rejection from both ends of some synth-fish tacos she ate from the grill guy that set up shop near the underpass in Japantown West.

A lot of moments of comfort between her and Jackie, taking Night City head on. A pair of naïve mercs building their legend while scarfing down Asian fusion, drinking too much and dancing nights away.

Laying on the bonnet of V’s car, staring up at the neon lights of the city as Jackie told her about how much he loved Misty. And V telling him that Misty was too good for him while also joyfully laughing and agreeing as he asked her if she would get a marriage celebrant licence when the time came.

A couple of Street Kids dreaming big.

It’s a lot. And this is all he could do to feel close to her for the time being.

There is a buzzing coming from the nightstand, and Johnny kicks back the sheets, reaching across the side of the mattress to pick up V’s holo. Vik’s name is blinking back at him, and he hastily takes the call.

“You look like shit,” he says when he sees Vik appear on-screen.

“And you probably look worse,” Vik snipes back. He is tense, forehead slightly damp with sweat as he wipes a hand across his mouth with a heavy breath through his nose.

Something has happened. Johnny can tell in an instant, and it feels like his heart is in his throat.

“What’s wrong with her, Vik?”

Kerry leans in, joining Johnny in the frame. And if Viktor is at all surprised to see an international star on the other end of the line, he gives no indication of it.

“We don’t know.”

“What you mean _you don’t know_?” Kerry questions, his tone surprisingly harsh and uncompromising. It makes Johnny glance out the corner of his eye at the other man.

“I _mean_ whatever is happening doesn’t seem possible,” Vik snaps. “She started bleeding out her nose, like a Relic malfunction. Apparently has free flowing blood coming from _nowhere_. It’s a corpse.”

“I’m coming down there,” Johnny states, already standing to grab the Malorian and his jacket.

“Good,” Vik responds. “Panam’s already on her way.”

Johnny’s head snaps down to the holo again, deep frown pulling at the lines of his mouth as he felt annoyance, and admittedly jealousy, tickling at his mind.

“You called her first?”

“V needs reliable people surrounding her, Silverhand. Don’t think you fit that bill,” Vik snarks, hanging up before Johnny can reply.

Johnny grits his teeth, jaw straining and muscles twitching as he pockets the holo.

Kerry lets loose a low whistle before clapping a hand on Johnny’s back and brushing past him, keys jingling in hand.

“In-law is not fond of you, huh?”

“They’re not related,” Johnny grunts, following Kerry down the stairs, through his wanky, opulent mansion and out to where the cars are parked.

Johnny heads for his Porsche, which he has not had a chance to drive yet after they went back to the apartment garage and picked it up yesterday. But Kerry clears his throat loudly, driver-side door of the Aerondight open and he raises a brow.

“Mine’s faster,” Kerry states, sliding into his seat and turning the ignition.

Johnny growls, marching to the passenger side and dropping into the seat, clearly angry, “If you get carjacked in Watson, that’s on you.”

“Let’s not change the subject; Papa Doc clearly doesn’t like you. Related or not, that man is her family and you better start grovelling if you want to make this output thing work,” Kerry states, hitting the gas and peeling out of his driveway and down towards the centre of the city.

“She is _not_ my output,” Johnny snarls. “Three days ago, I got her fuckin’ killed!”

 _She wouldn’t be the first one_ – a younger Kerry, one more full of hate for the things that Johnny Silverhand had done to him, would have said that without another thought or care. He would have said it knowing and with full intention to harm.

But now he knew that was not fair. Johnny didn’t kill Alt, even if after all these years the man blamed himself for it. And he didn't kill V.

A tense silence follows, and Johnny is gripping the door like he is preparing to throw it open and jump out of the moving car at a moment’s notice. Anything to escape the conversation.

“So defensive,” Kerry laughs through his nose finally and takes his eyes of the road for a brief second to glance over at the man beside him.

“All I am gonna say is this,” Kerry continues. “You’re doing everything you can to save her, and you’re being smart about it in a way that you weren’t in the past. None of this martyr, pariah and hero bullshit. It’s a change. A _good_ one, and it might just be the thing that actually makes this work.

“If that, she, is what you want… I get it.”

Johnny remains silent, staring out the window as he watches Night City drift by.

 **⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

**Vik’s Clinic**  
**NIGHT CITY / Little China, Watson**  
**5:23 PM, December 2077**

Panam is pacing in the alley just outside the clinic when Johnny and Kerry push their way through the gate. One hand is tugging at her hair anxiously while the other is tipping back a bottle of Broseph Ale that she gulps at like she has indeed been in a desert under the hot sun for days on end.

She looks over when she hears the metal hinges squeal closed behind the two men.

“Finally!” she shouts, both hands coming together in a jarring, little ‘what the fuck’ motion while the beer bottle swings wildly in her grip around its neck. She turns without another word and marches, leading them both inside.

“Traffic,” Kerry offers in a way of explanation.

“What’s going on, Panam?” Johnny asks as he follows.

“We’ve got no fuckin’ clue,” Panam responds, pulling open the grille and they all step into the clinic. Misty and Viktor already waiting in chairs by the ice tank that had been set up on the far side of the room.

“Nice of you to show up, Silverhand,” Vik grunts as he spins in his chair to look over at them. “Hope whatever you’ve been up to with this disappearing act has been worth it.”

“You didn’t tell them?” Kerry asks quietly.

“He didn’t tell us shit,” Panam responds, joining Misty and Vik on the other side of the room, standing behind their seats and knowing it is a gesture of support in ‘us versus you’.

It is Misty that is staring Johnny down with the stiffest gaze, and he swallows roughly under the disappointment in it. 

“Rogue called me. Imagine my surprise when I find out that you have a _whole fucking plan_ to get V back, and you’ve shared none of it with us,” Panam snaps. “The more of us there is working on tracking Meredith down the quicker we can find her and put a plan into action. You _gatekeeping_ the- “

“Johnny,” Misty interrupts and Panam’s mouth stops running immediately. Her voice is a quiet, calm juxtaposition to the Aldecaldo’s anger.

“You have people that you can rely on here, but we cannot help you if you don’t let us in,” Misty continues. “Every one of us in this room cares about her. V means something to all of us. Do not try and take that from us.”

A quiet follows, only the sounds of the low rumble of the ice tank lit up with electricity and blasting freezing air into it’s small chamber are filling the room.

“Vik, the nanites. Could they work?” Johnny asks finally, voice rasping at low volume.

Viktor looks at the door of the tank for a long moment, mulling in his own mind.

“Not an expert on the tech,” he responds, looking back over at the rockerboy. “The damage to her nervous system is beyond anything I have seen people come back from though. I think she still needs to be producing stem cells, so they can separate. Become the daughter cells, link up and work with the nanites.

“The brain damage? Fried tissue and the uncoordinated electrical activity with the seizures? There’s a lot that has been going on in there,” Vik shakes his head in continued disbelief that a person endured as long as she had.

“The longer we leave this, the harder and longer it is going to be to get her body back online. It isn’t going to be easy producing cells, ‘ganic or artificial, that can link with the tech. We don’t have whatever Arasaka had for you.”

“How long do you think we have?” Kerry questions.

“Again, not an expert,” Vik shrugs. “Stem cells can live for 17 days in a cadaver. She’s in an unnatural stasis with the ice, I don’t know what the ins and outs are of the nanite tech. I can’t make the final call, but I’d say another 14 days and we’ll have another layer of challenge on our hands.

“We would have to find an artificial cell that can cooperate with the nanite to restore the central nervous system. Plainly, we need Stout,” Vik says, standing and heading to the control panel for the tank. It releases with a loud hiss.

“But, in classic V fashion, she’s thrown another curveball at us,” Panam adds. She lifts the door of the tank, and Johnny and Kerry peer inside.

“What the…” Kerry mumbles.

“So, we’re all seeing it then?” Panam solicits.

Johnny’s breath catches in his throat because he has _seen_ this before. With himself and through V’s own view and memories of when Brigitte had used them to make contact with Alt the first time

Sure enough, there is blood crusted under V’s nose and across her lips. The crimson is stark against her abnormally pale, frozen skin.

But it’s twitching and glitching in and out of existence, lines of glowing bright blue code shifting through it every few seconds. Just like Johnny had when he was visible to V outside of the environment of her mind.

And then, like a switch being flicked, the next glitch ran red and patched with the blue, creating shimmers of purple. It was like the wave of unfettered AI that bordered the Voodoo Boys’ data fort when it had met with the Blackwall. Bouncing back and never passing through, just as the black ICE intended.

“Johnny?” Misty’s voice questions quietly beside him, and he knows that even with his face half hidden under his aviators, he cannot escape Misty’s perceptiveness and knack for knowing when something is upsetting another person. 

“Think I’ve seen this. Used to glitch in and out of V’s head constantly. Could interact with an environment and only she could see the action,” Johnny explains, tone low, slow and uncertain. “But purple… only saw it at the Blackwall.

“Shit. Give me a sec’,” he says, hand coming up to remove the sunglasses, holding them between a couple of fingers as he rubs at his forehead. He can feel a headache starting to form behind his eyes. He hastily pulls out V’s holo, scrolls names and dials.

Rogue picks up.

“No update, Johnny. I- “

“Nix there?” he interjects.

Her eye twitches in irritation at the interruption before nodding once.

“Put him on.”

Rogue’s eyebrow lifts, and Johnny knows the look.

“Please,” he adds.

Nix appears in frame a moment later, shoulder to shoulder with the Queen of the Afterlife, glasses off for once and looking confused.

“Working as fast as I can, Silverhand.”

“It isn’t that,” Johnny replies. Turning the holo, so they can see V and the glitching streaks of blood briefly before he turns the camera back onto himself. “Seen AIs trying to pass the Wall before?”

Nix rolls his eyes, “’Course.”

“Theoretically, somethin’ pulls V out of the Net. Somethin’ happens to her, she goes back in, whatever happens out here can’t follow her back through the Blackwall?” Johnny questions.

“ _Theoretically_ , I don’t know,” Nix responds. “Her situation is beyond _theory_ of what most Runners are ever doing in the Net.”

“But there’s a chance she has been pulled out?”

“Maybe. Don’t know how since she isn’t jacked in anywhere and I’m assuming you didn’t see any movement spikes from her body while it’s being monitored?”

Johnny looks over at Viktor, who shakes his head.

“No.”

“Your guess is probably as good as mine then,” Nix states with a shrug. “But you’re right. The way that glitch is moving on her – looks like it’s a bounce back off the Wall.” 

Johnny chews at the inside of his lower lip, another bodily tick he had picked up from existing within V.

“We’re closing in on Stout. Call soon,” Nix says. He and Rogue disappear from the end of the line.

Johnny slides the holo back into the pocket of his jacket and looks back up at everyone in the room, each of them unconsciously having moved to form a semi-circle around V in the tank. Each of them quiet and deep in thought after listening to conversation over loudspeaker.

Viktor moves eventually, closing the tank and locking it back down, which kicks everyone else back into gear.

Johnny can feel Misty’s eyes on him, and he contemplates her suggestion. He probably could use backup.

With a sigh, he turns to Panam and asks, “You still in the city tomorrow?”

“Not going anywhere while this is happening,” she responds.

“Keep your afternoon free. I’ll send you coordinates, and we’ll meet there. Someone we need to pay a visit to,” he says.

“Where are we heading?”

“Church.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, lots of dialogue towards the end there. 
> 
> Just wanted to take a moment and say a massive thank you to everyone who has been following along so far, commented and left kudos, it means a lot. So, thank you!


	6. Vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V is several days into her new, digital life in the Net, and she's exhausted.  
> -  
>  _‘Fuck, how bad is this?' she wonders, and she knows she has to run._
> 
> _The corps will be on her any moment and she needs to get somewhere no one will look for her. Somewhere she can’t be traced, and somewhere that doesn’t have Alt._
> 
> _Because Alt is going to kill her._

**Location Not Found  
Date Unknown  
???**

V will never admit it, but she is hiding.

Alt was continuing to send her out into the shallow Net, scouting the line of the Blackwall and watching, observing the activities of other netrunners. Each time she was pushed back through the Wall, there was never any explanation or context provided, just the same instruction: talk to absolutely no one.

She had been at this ever since that day in Eurotheater, and it was wearing on her. Her disembodied mind taking in and reading data endlessly, code always scrolling. The fatigue lingering in her brain like a pressure headache that sits around one’s temples and behind the eyes, refusing to ease off.

In a way, the weariness was tethering though, and she wanted to hold onto it tightly. It was the thing that reminded her that buried somewhere in code of her avatar, _she_ was still there. She was not operating on an algorithm, she was not machine learning, her human bias was ever-present, and she still had not succumbed to the programming of an AI.

Alt clearly hated that she was still functioning on this “inferior” level, it was easy to see that their interactions were grinding on one another for different but also entirely similar reasons. They continued to be separate and unique.

And there was relief in that. With each recent trip through the Wall, she had not lost control again. The connection between the operations of her mind and the representation of her avatar seems to have rewired and were functioning as they should. It was an undeniable relief to comfortably settle in her digital skin and move between the new and old networks without being yanked out of the position of command.

She had not been haunted or prodded at by people shrouded in red lights since that first encounter. And admittedly, she was slightly relieved she was a digital entity because the experience would have made her physically shit her pants had she come back into her human body.

After that confrontation, when her virtual body and mind had established their reconnection and she felt herself come back online, she had no idea what was happening to her. So, the first thing she did was run to Alt.

She did not tell the AI what had happened out of fear of retaliation to her breaking the ‘don’t talk to anyone’ rule, and the AI had said nothing. She had sat with the other digital body and proceeded to spiral through the stages of what she thought might have been a panic attack.

Alt had simply put the uncontrollable shakes that had vibrated through V’s avatar and the unusual quietness down to irrational human emotion, which the AI no longer grasped. The illogical had no place in their code.

Regardless, the AI had raised one of their enormous hands and pet her on the head like a dog. While it absolutely did not help, she appreciated the gesture of what was likely meant to comfort.

But then it was straight back into the pattern; commanding her to cross back over to the shallow Net and monitor the Blackwall and who was around it or approaching it. Always the same thing, over and over.

The enervation she was feeling from it all had been enough to send V into a tirade. She had erupted and told the AI to go fuck itself, demanding it absorb her like it had first said it would, or leave her alone.

Alt had not taken to that well.

They towered over V’s avatar then, big, beautiful lines of code that were thunderous in their next moves.

A faceless body constructed out of thin air, shaped by constantly fluctuating and modifying lines of code. It had flipped V straight onto her back, like she weighted nothing, and she supposed that was in fact the case.

The construct had pressed her down, and she could register a heavy weight on her virtual chest that had her gasping for air, and it mashed her face down into the datastreams below them with an overwhelming pressure.

There had been an explosion of ‘1’s and ‘0’s behind her virtual eyelids and knowing Alt was standing there, manipulating the body that was doing this to her, watching the code do their dirty work, she lost all tolerance. 

Fed up with the demands of the AI and the lack of control over every moment she had here in this digital life, she had sent out a Cripple Movement Quickhack, hitting the foreign body square in the chest. The pressure on her body fell away immediately, and she had swung a punch into its non-existent face before rolling it off her.

She sent every hack in her arsenal at Alt, the AI deflecting every single one like it was simply swatting flies and watched on as V pushed herself to her feet shakily. She let a frustrated yell loose into the lines of red and blue around them, panting for breath, and spun on her heel to march towards the first flicker of lilac that she could see.

V crossed the Wall and had not returned to the deep Net since their altercation, doing everything she could to avoid the AI.

It was inevitable, but she did not think it would be so soon into their time together that she would be completely fuckin’ sick of Alt.

Having said that, the AI was right about one thing. She did need to keep a low profile, particularly while feeling fatigued and perhaps not operating to her full capacity if she did stumble into a clash with another netrunner. Or worse yet, if a corp or NetWatch closed in.

So, she did not attempt to make contact with anyone she saw. She kept her head down and stayed along the border of the Blackwall where the unfettered AIs that could not pass through the black ICE could keep her moving in the safety of an undulating wave of red and blue.

She had spent some time flicking through IP addresses again, bouncing around locations before she had settled on the latest; switching up her location, she was now wandering through the Pacifica virtual and had been for quite some time.

The region, even after the NetWatch rework in most parts of it, continued to be beautiful. A stylised ocean that stretches out as far as the virtual eye can see. Glowing fish and turtles twisting and dancing on invisible currents.

Seeing the shelled reptiles here in the Net still blew V’s mind, knowing it was truly a shame that she would never see the creatures in real life. They had gone extinct before she was even born, the last of them snuffed out by human pollution and irreversible damages of climate change.

The sky in Pacifica was also unforgettable after spending so much time in the black, red, blue of home. It was hazy, and made up of hues of blues, pinks, purples and oranges all overlapping one another and illuminating with different levels of brightness. It looked like a stunning recreation of both sunrise and sunset meeting in the one sky.

The region’s two moons cast interesting shadows, depending on where she moves. And for the first time since arriving in the Net after leaving Mikoshi, V checks the time.

11:32 am.

Makes sense, the IP address combination had sent her to the east coast of Australia and Pacifica’s moon that replicated the sun in real time was burning far more intense than their other, regular moon that imitated their nights.

She did not care to check the date though. However long it had been, she did not want it ruining her mood now that it had picked up wandering across this ocean.

V turns slowly, looking over in the direction of one of the data forts in the distance and feeling a pleasant smile tugging at her cheeks. It hovers above the water on wooden planks, looking the part of a beached Atlantis ruin that is somehow still entirely modern. Made up of stunning, reflective and smooth building blocks.

She gets why her Mother always used to talk about it fondly.

The Dolphin programs that used to patrol Pacifica appear to have been wiped out by NetWatch in their rework and that, V thinks, is a genuine tragedy. Fuckin’ corps sucking the fun out of the world.

With a sigh, she turns back to look out at the ocean, imagining a breeze hitting her cheeks that smells pleasantly of salt and seafoam, something entirely different to the toxic residual scents rolling into shore off the coastline of Night City.

Fuck Alt, and the AI’s plans for whatever they are unravelling in the deep Net.

 _This_ wasn’t so bad.

But she knows she can’t stay. She does need to stay out of the eyes of other netrunners and the more time she spends at a single location, the bigger target she will be. Even more pressingly, a target when she is not on her home turf and has no idea how the runners operate around here.

She releases a single, drawn out and exhausted groan, tips her head back to look up at the gorgeous patterns of this virtual sky one final time, and then starts scrolling IPs again. She locates the one she wants, walks to an edge of ocean that is quiet and secure, and then jumps location once more.

 **⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

Lines of red and blue render rapidly in real time, with an exceptionally stable connection. It takes V’s mind a moment to catch up to the quick downloads of the glowing expanse that builds around her as she steps back into Night City’s online network.

She sends out a Ping and several icons appear within her line of sight. There is more System Operators home in their data forts today then there had been in her last few passes through the city zone.

And more netrunners out and about meant more potential risks of running into them, when she did not really know how her avatar appeared in the detection systems of other humans now. Her constant passes through the ICE could very well have put a dangerous target on her back if any firewalls discovered her presence.

But this is comforting. Seeing familiar human net activity underway in the cyberspace that had been home to her own netrunning for years, particularly after spending every moment of recent downtime with the AIs in the regions beyond the Wall. It took the edge off and she felt the need to check over her own shoulder every second dissipate just a little.

“A little fun couldn’t hurt,” she whispers to herself, grinning as she continues to wander along the border of the Wall. The waves of unconstrained AIs shrouding her just enough from view that she can take a little bit more time for herself.

Her feet carry her subconsciously in the direction of what her younger self had aptly named Corp Cunt Circuit, and she chuckles. She knows exactly what she feels like doing.

After being submerged in a new, digital existence of uncertainty, doing something that V _knew_ she was good at could definitely be appreciated as a bit of fun.

Thievery had always been one of her strong points. And what Street Kid didn’t love stealing from the rich?

She comes to a stop at what is essentially a circle of the highest wealth in Night City. Data forts owned by the major corporations, each of them lavish and completely over the top in their designs. Screaming capital and clawing to tower over one another in both size and their wants for top-of-the-line protective software to guard each of the forts.

It was displays of BBS virtual reality at its peak.

V bypasses the stretch of opulence that holds forts for the manufacturing and computing corps, and instead heads straight for the IG Transformation Algorithms’ version of Sector B3 in Night City’s downtown: banking.

Keeping her head down and carefully passing by the ICE guarded entrance points for the Night City branches of Eurobank, Fujiwara and American Express World, she spots what she is looking for and lets out a low, pleased whistle.

“Been a hot minute. You’ve had an upgrade since I last saw you,” she states, tipping her neck backwards to look up are the datastreams that tower over her to shape the BBS fortress of 1st Citibank Tower.

She runs a scan over the building, Ping showing the operational icons and security programs active on the fortress’ local network, and they have certainly gone through some enhancements over the years.

When she was 21 years old, V had hacked Citibank sporadically for over a year. She had siphoned funds to the Valentinos via an offshore bank account and scraped her percentage off the top each time.

Damn good business. Citibank had never found her or seemingly managed to work out how she had performed the digital intrusion.

The entire thing had solidified the relationship she had with Padre. The Valentinos and most of Heywood had been good to her ever since.

It made sense that the bank had decided to upgrade their systems after that debacle though. Not a good look, having money disappear without a trace, even if it was only about a hundred thousand eddies each time.

V cracks her fingers and feels a tickle of excitement at the thought of a new challenge, ready to dive right into it.

She sends out a Breach Protocol hack and it hits right at the entrance of Citibank’s data fort. A breach timer, buffer and the sequence uploads appear before her as she hastily gets to work, eyes scouring the rows of alphanumerical sequences in the code matrix and assigning them to their respective slots. Once locked in, the Mass Vulnerability Daemon uploads and she sends in the Friendly Mode hack.

There is a loud click, and the heavy double doors that barricade the Citibank entrance crack open.

V smirks, using her avatar’s foot to push open the doors fully and peers inside. There does not appear to be anyone waiting to deter her from moving forward, so she quickly does what she needs to do.

So, she steps inside and sends out a Take Control hack. Within seconds she is scrolling bank accounts, many locked behind encryptions that would take days if not weeks to crack, but she finds multiple that are easier options with a PIN code authentication and nothing else.

She tackles their code matrixes one by one and then siphons funds out of each of them before scrolling the database and locating the name and personal details she is looking for. She sends to the account selected, the funds are gone, and it is all to plan.

Until it isn’t.

There is a vibrant flash of lime green light that ripples under her feet. It tears across the BBS and rips through the walls of the fort, branching off in glowing lines and rethreading like an enormous spider’s web that is suffocating the carefully constructed code that makes up the Citibank local network.

It is moving faster than V can try and stop it, chewing through the datastreams around it and darkening the fort.

It’s like a sickness.

“Oh shit,” V gasps in a breathy panic. She reaches out a shaking hand and touches the green, which swells in its laced currents, but it does not harm her the way it had the data fortress. Instead, it seems like it does not even register that she is there.

She turns to see that the lines have branched all the way out of the double doors that secure the Citibank fortress.

She follows the green markings and can see that they are crossing into other datastreams as well. It’s threading itself into the code of other bank corporations that are nearby, but it’s moving much slower now. Closer to a snail’s pace, like all the energy is burning out of it.

And then it comes to a stop entirely in its tracks when it meets a barricade of ICE at the entry of Eurobank.

“What the fuck did I just do?” V whispers to herself, and if she had a heart it would have jumped into her throat at hearing netrunners and System Operators yelling and panicked in the distance.

She can feel the presence of their code, and its closing in as each of the runners are searching for the source that caused the twining green datastreams to appear in the first place.

‘Fuck, how bad is this?' she wonders, and she knows she has to run.

The corps will be on her any moment and she needs to get somewhere no one will look for her. Somewhere she can’t be traced, and somewhere that doesn’t have Alt.

Because Alt is going to kill her.

_Low profile, my ass._

She wracks her brain, desperately trying to think of where the safest place would be to run to. Something here in the shallow Net.

Somehow, she just knows – Mikoshi. _If_ it is empty, and it is a _big if_.

The netrunners are closing in, she can feel it and she can hear them getting louder. Can feel the Ping they send out that hits her and exposes her location to them.

“Fuck it!” she yells, egging herself on as she makes a dash for Arasaka.

 **⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

**Judy’s Van  
OREGON / Horse Heaven, Pacific Northwest  
6:42 PM, December 2077**

Judy reaches into the pocket of her pants as she feels her holo buzz against her hip, and she pulls it out, flipping it over to look at the screen.

She feels her jaw drop. She does a swift double take before she opens the holo and reads the message in full. 

“What the actual fuck?”

A notification glares up at her in the usual red font, only it is accompanied by a profile image and a message that she had never been expecting.

 ** _Citibank:_** _  
+_ €$ _300,000 Payment_

_Bonus Rate Activated  
You’ve qualified for our bonus interest rate this month. _

_Hope Oregon is great! You could use these more than them ;)_

Judy fumbles with the holo as she hastily scrolls through her contacts to find V’s name. She doesn't even bother hitting the 'Video Call' option, instead just jabbing at the dial button, waiting for several moments before the call accepts.

“V, what the _hell_ did you do?” Judy shouts into the holo before any greeting can be exchanged. She is so riled that she doesn’t care how angry or rude she sounds, screeching down the line. “How did you get that money? I-it doesn’t matter, I don’t wanna know. You _should_ be using it to fix your situation! You shouldn’t be- “

The voice that interrupts on the other end of the holo is not V’s, but it is distinct, and Judy knows exactly who it is.

Her eyes well with tears as she leans back against the side of her van because it feels like her legs are about to give way.

“Where is she, Silverhand?” she breathes shakily.

 **⌜** **• ° + ° •** **⌝**

**Location Not Found**  
 **Date Unknown**  
 **???**

V never thought she would return to Mikoshi. 

And it was probably a stupid thing to do, really. Being here now, to escape the other corporations that were closing in from her little heist gone wrong.

Instead, she had made herself an easy target, a sitting duck to Arasaka while she was standing in the heart of their owned sector of the Night City network like this.

But in the moment, it made sense. And she was undeniably curious to see it.

She wanted to see the fate of the infrastructure that had created so much grief in their journey. Not just hers and Johnny’s, but Alt’s as well.

All that is left is darkness; perpetual stretches of nothing where white noise echoes in every corner.

Alt had clearly come good on their promise, having obliterated every line of code that had made up the vault of souls. The prison walls that held the victims of Soulkiller were demolished the moment V and Alt had walked through the golden gate together, and the AI appears to have taken everything along with it.

With V’s newly established connections to the Net, the ability to see flashes of the approximation where the Blackwall AI was at any given time, she could see streaks of lilac flickering in the distance even here. The safeguard between the shallow and deep Netspace very much still intact, despite every corner of Mikoshi having vanished.

It looks like Arasaka all but abandoned this side of their network. A defeat. Whether they would continue to accept it laying down and without retaliation yet to be seen.

A prison that links to the Net still faces the same structures and laws as anywhere else in the virtual world, if one could call any of its rules, or guidelines rather, a legislature in any way.

Corps like to think they own the virtual world the same way they do the real one. But truly, it is netrunners like Bartmoss that govern and lay down the law here.

Despite the events of the 2013 raid, Alt had been lucky. Being a netrunner as talented as she was, V could not help but wonder if it was her quick human mind that knew what she needed to do in the moments before her body flatlined. Letting her mind fall victim to the depths of the Net while the engram made its break, escaping beyond the Wall, so no part of her would ever be forever at the mercy of Arasaka.

The AI rewrote the rules in its creator’s own rulebook.

Admittedly, V admired that.

With a long sigh, she sinks to her knees before letting herself fall backwards across the black expanse of floor. The never-ending ceiling of dark nothing glaring back down at her, and she rubs a hand at the eyes of her avatar in a human act of tiredness.

Truly exhausted from the netrunning for Alt, but now on top of that, absolutely stumped and feeling like a complete idiot for whatever stuff up she had made back in the Citibank fortress.

She had not fucked up a hack that badly in _years_.

As she continues to stare into the seemingly unending abyss, V can certainly imagine how the gloom and stillness of Mikoshi, even with its previous datastreams forming structures, would have been enough to turn anyone insane if they were trapped here too long. Alt included.

The digitised personalities that Soulkiller stored were arguably not really a whole someone or at the very least not fully aware of where they were or how much time was passing in this space. They could not go mad in the endless silence.

But V still imagines that there would probably have been some type of relief for every one of the Soulkiller victims that had been absorbed by Alt. It was probably freeing in a lot of ways, and that thought made something shift uncomfortably in her gut.

_Why hadn’t Alt absorbed her then?_

She tugs the lower lip of her avatar between her teeth and chews. Thinking back on the first meeting she had with Alt, at the hands of exploitation from the Voodoo Boys.

Brigitte had claimed it was the familiarity she had to the AI because of Johnny and the engram that got her there. Her presence in the Net desirable enough for Alt to rise from the shadows and make connection after however many attempts that the Voodoo Boys had tried and failed in the past.

And it probably was that past life connection that Johnny and Alt had that pulled the AI to her like a beacon, beckoning an approach.

But now, Johnny was gone, and she was still here. Roped into the bidding of the AI and feeling like she was quickly losing control over pieces of herself the longer she stayed with it. Because Alt was relentless. The recon missions and the bubbling temper that she felt rising in her constantly, dealing with the non-stop demands of crossing the Blackwall now, it was all becoming too much.

Was she being unfair on the AI? Had it not saved her in some way – allowing her to still consciously function in the Net and experience a digital life?

V considers the anger that she registered that night in Mikoshi. It had etched itself on the lines of Alt’s face in a moment that the AI lost control over the physical appearance of its lines of code. It happened because for a second, it appeared as if V was indeed going to let Johnny save her as she approached the well.

The anger had dissipated the moment she had pushed Johnny through the gateway back to reality instead.

And then they had crossed the Blackwall together like it was as simple as crossing a street. A prison border that was no different from jumping between locations anywhere else in the Net for V.

For Alt though, it had been different. The AI had needed V to physically jack the AI in to the Izanagi access point, in order for it to be able to make contact in Mikoshi.

Aside from the extensive security protocols that Arasaka had established to keep Alt away from their soul facilities, the Wall had and continues to also be a barricade. After the years that the AI has spent in Net, it has lost the touches that kept it human. Because of this, the AI cannot cross safely. The black ICE recognises it as an AI and nothing else.

A danger to hold back from humans and the shallow Net.

However, Alt had been able to cross the Wall out of Mikoshi. V and the AI had all but waltzed out of the enormous prison cell.

“Oh _shit_ ,” V gasped, a hand smacking over her mouth in shock.

Alt crossed the Blackwall. _Because_ V was crossing it.

The AI had remained back in the deep Net ever since. Not once had it headed out into the shallow Net or attempted to cross the Blackwall from what she had seen.

She rolls her neck to the side slowly, left ear pressing against the cold, codeless floor as her eyes trail along a lilac line that she can see shifting in the distance, like it is alive and breathing.

It is jarring, how quickly she sits up then. Her mind spinning from the sudden movement as she releases a shaking breath.

_Am I a key?_

She feels egotistical for even considering it, but she thinks she might be right.

Alt suspected that she would be able to cross the Blackwall safely because she was human, even with Soulkiller having pulled a copy of her personality into a separate existence, she was still _her_.

She had not been in the Net long enough to lose her humanity and the AI that made up the Wall did not detect her as anything that was off-limits because of it. Alt had not made to absorb her because she somehow got the AI access to cross the Blackwall.

Leaving Mikoshi that first time had been Alt’s test to see if V could cross between the networks and open the prison cell door, unopposed as the AI apparently theorised.

She could because she was a netrunner. She knew, at least in theory to start with, how to navigate the crossing between the shallow and deep Net.

Had Johnny stayed, whatever Alt was planning could have been a bust before it even started.

Alt needed _her_.

And the other AIs that lay beyond the Wall, supposedly so dangerous to netrunners that few legends ever returned from the deep Net? Well, they had not dared to touch her.

‘ _It appears you were correct_ ,’ she recalls Europa saying to Alt at the time that she had run into them both. Thinking back on it though, Europa had been waiting at the line of the Blackwall, and it might have been to specifically see her cross it without being harmed.

Results to fit the hypothesis.

Alt and Europa were chummier than V would ever expect two AIs to be when they had spoken as well. Particularly when one of them was invading the other’s territory at the time.

Alt had to be planning something, and other AIs were in on it.

And there was a timeframe on it, there _had_ to be. How long did she have until she would slip further, losing herself to the Net and her own engram until the Wall no longer recognised V as human too?

 _Fuck._ Had the six-month timestamp on her life even been real? Or was it a manipulation to get her to stay?

The green tendrils that had come out in Citibank? That had not been her. She had no idea how to take an entire network offline from within the Net like that. And she did not send out a hack that could in any way cause that spread of whatever it was.

‘How much of me is under the control of Alt and I don’t even realise it?’ she wonders.

V pushes herself up off the floor violently, her avatar’s fists balling in utter rage as she releases a rough, roaring scream into the black masses. The sound and sensation of insurmountable outrage ripping through her in a way that leaves her shaking.

She feels like an absolute gonk for how long it has taken for the pieces to start clicking into place, but now that they have, she is riled and fucking done.

Alt is using her like some sort of fucked up vessel to cross the Blackwall for whatever the AI is planning to do with the ability. 

“That bitch,” V growls into the darkness, turning on her heel and marching back into the fray of the shallow Net. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Pacifica region is based around the descriptions from R.Talsorian Games Guides. For reference, this region of the Net is completely different to the district in Night City, the region covers all of the Pacific Ocean, pole to pole.
> 
> Things are getting spicy! I'm seriously having so much fun writing this, I feel like I am living the Pepe Silvia/It's Always Sunny meme the further this gets. 
> 
> Thanks so much to all the readers!


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